Disillusioned
by Peta2
Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he’s dragged to the Hellmouth by his sire though he’d rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer, of course. Season One Spuffy.
1. Chapter 1

**Disillusioned**

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth by his sire though he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer, of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.

He'd thought it was high bloody time they'd gone somewhere he wanted to for a change. Prague was a pretty place, filled to the brim with lots of throats and pumping hearts. Trust Dru to get all finicky and intuitive about the place. She couldn't just come straight out and say she didn't want to go. No. She had to make a song and dance of it. '_If we go I'll die, my Spike.' _It pissed him off how she'd use that brand of bollocks every time it was his choice where they went.

And where did they end up? The sodding Hellmouth, of all places. The one in California—a town that could better pass for a set out of Hollywood's tackiest horror stories without any trouble at all. And as luck would have it, it was inhabited by a Slayer. Spike hadn't decided if he wanted to face this one yet, being that he was still stewing in his anger and getting more pissed by the minute as soon as he felt the strain of family bonds. Felt the expectation of buckling under to his elders even though he'd been top dog in his own pen for the past century.

He should have known the moment Dru started acting battier than usual that something more than her imminent dusting was up. Trust her to bring them right back to the Poof and his Barbie Girl.

Well, bugger 'em. He wasn't budging from his stool till this weaselly looking human had managed to get him good and sloshed. And maybe not even then.

"Oi. Barkeep. More blood, more booze. An' if you got anything by way of entertainment, pass that along too."

The little twitchy guy got twitchier, his eyes darting to the back of the bar and back sideways to his bleach and leather patron before diving under the bar. Spike could sense what the little human barkeep was frightened of facing, and to tell the truth, he wasn't up for this kind of confrontation yet either. He'd only been on this Godforsaken cesspit of hell for less than a night. If he could hold out for another century it would still be too soon to face his past.

The stinky scent of Angelus was blocking his sinuses pretty quick, and instead of turning and facing the elder of his once very close clan, he swept out of the bar with a swish of his leather jacket. Not like the ugly bastard had seen him in a while and knew exactly how he looked. And it wasn't like he'd ever cared to be anything to Spike but a mean selfish son of a bitch. And when you factored Darla into the equation—as he suddenly had to do when he caught sight of her up ahead—that description wasn't so far from the pail.

Well, this little trip was turning out to be all sorts of fun—for those that actually got a kick out of the old family reunions. He hated to think what other surprises Dru had in store for him. He was feeling pretty close to packing up the Desoto and squealing his way out of there—leaving Dru to fend with good old daddy now that she'd finally found him. Really didn't do a bloke's ego great walloping bags of good to know the chit you'd spent over a century following and loving had led you on a wild goose chase in search of her sire.

Well bugger that. He was sick of being Love's Bitch. He was sick of being the one who came second, or third—or if he even rated a thought. He'd known from the week he'd been turned that as much of a destiny he might have attributed to Dru, Angelus buried deep between her thighs had altered his perception a little. Still, he'd been a blind fool, and deliriously happy when Darla had had a turn and turfed the overblown forehead out of the nest and cackled that he'd failed to fly.

Spike couldn't get over the fact that the great Neanderthal could walk—and without dragging his knuckles on the ground. He never could get why the women fell head over tit for the big poof. Sure, he had the looks, and girls loved a bit of mystery, but surely that staid routine got old? Where was the fun? The excitement? Where was the bloody guts and glory that made unlife worth living?

Spike couldn't stand the mystery. The waiting would have driven him barmy, always needing to jump right into the fray and quench his thirst for being in it. A part of it. And he didn't mean the 'it' that Dru kept dragging him into. Still, Angelus had been out on his own for a century by now. Was still kicking along and seemed to be doing okay, if not actually flourishing. And whatever the Poof could do, Spike could do better.

_Yeah, that's the spirit! _Spike grinned and decided to follow the tarted up matriarch on her little wander, almost flinching when they came to the door of a club that had thumping great crowds of teenyboppers. It was humiliating—even if she was there for the food. Place was likely to have a bar, though, and he was more inclined toward the booze than the gullible necks that swam around in his vision. So, passing through the door, Spike made his way through throngs of hot sweating bodies and found himself right back where he was recently interrupted. On a barstool with a bottle of Jack sitting patiently in front of him.

He couldn't even be bothered looking around at the free range, more than satisfied to ignore everything for the night—the blood, his fangs—in favour of the sweet seduction of his booze. He loved the burn as it flowed down his throat. There was nothing like it, and over a century of getting his fill hadn't altered the thrill at all. It was more than his friend—sometimes the only comfort he could get while Dru was off sharing it out for all and sundry. Yeah, he might be a faithful type—even now couldn't bring himself to cheat in the way she did—but he was feeling pretty close to done sitting back and watching while she made him look more and more a fool in their world.

Despite knowing he'd unwittingly stumbled into a slayer playground, he hadn't expected to feel the little buzz through his body indicating that she was here. Behind him somewhere in the throng. Self-preservation made him swivel suddenly, seeking out the killer of his kind. He might never have picked her out but for the obvious. Middle-aged bloke in tweed around a teenage Caligirl—blond, tanned and high with the bopperish. Yep, Watcher. God they were so bloody predictable.

He watched them up high on the balcony, watched the old lecher circle behind her, whisper in her ear and her eyes scanning the mob below her. A quirky finger point and she'd located her first demon, though Spike could immediately tell it wasn't through any sense handed down slayer to slayer. Vamp hearing at it's best and he knew it was the clothes that gave the git away, and when the Slayer tore down the stairs in hot pursuit, Spike felt strangely inclined to follow.

It was an enlightening travel. Keeping to the shadows, black duster swishing comfortably around his legs, Spike dogged her every step. That he was acting all cloak and dagger didn't bother him a bit, even when he became aware that he himself was being followed by Darla and her catch of the night. In fact, it all just added to the excitement and he felt the thrill of the pursuit for the first time in ages.

He saw two humans escape from a crypt before the Slayer dived in, marching in on the impulse of Darla and then Luke's booming self-important masculinity. Spike almost giggled at the situation and the over-confident way the idiots had no clue who they were fighting, but he seized the opportunity of getting near the kiddies, wondering exactly what he was going to do. Not like he'd had a plan when he'd chased after the Slayer's scent. With a bit of luck, things might pan out the better for him without one.

"Hello there. Didn't your mother ever tell you it was bad to wander off with strangers? And in cemeteries too?" he tsked at them, watching with a reverent fascination as the boy leaked blood from the vein at his throat and the girl startled and clung tighter to the weaker one. Another stood by them, brave and sure despite the scared pounding of his heart and Spike could tell that this one knew the scariness of the night, even if the discovery had been too recent. He knew and understood more by the way he eyed Spike back, making the blond both intrigued and disappointed that he couldn't indulge in a little show and really bring them out of their safe delusional little world.

"She told us about scary monsters. We were just too stupid to believe."

Oh yeah, this one had guts, and Spike felt oddly impressed. Enough to decide to leave this group alone, particularly if they belonged in the Slayer's every day world. And as he made the decision, Darla and her groupie in the dated togs were back, sniffing and salivating over the spilt blood.

"Spike, what perfect timing," Darla almost growled around her fangs, her gruesome smile ruining the prettiness of her face.

"How right you are," he drawled, feeling once again the irritation and anger that had driven his sullen passage through the country to this hole of a town, Dru whining all the way by his side. One look sideways at the alarm the brunette boy was displaying and Spike had his plan—well, somewhat of one. He was going to liberate this trio from Darla and her boy—deprive old Batface of his welcome sacrifice into the here and now. Would bloody teach the lot of them for thinking they could force his hand at everything. With a bit of luck Dru would cop a bit of a burst over it all, but not before Spike made his merry way on out of the place.

With a renewed cockiness in his step, he moved just enough to flank the trio, showing his intent to take Darla's claim of a meal on his own terms. "This lot's off the menu," he proclaimed confidently, feeling quite pleased at the easing of the stronger boy's heartbeat.

Darla actually shook her head in shock, stepping up to look at him closely and finding as usual she didn't like what she saw.

"For crying out loud, do you have a soul too?"

_Well, that came out of the bloody blue. _The concept actually left Spike speechless, and his mouth flapped open and closed twice before he thought of an answer.

"Too? I thought I was the only one." _Sodding hell! _He suddenly felt like he had no clue what he was doing, and who ever heard of a vampire with a soul anyway? But it was the perfect cover, and as he felt the tingle of the Slayer's approach at his back—his unprotected back—he felt like it was the solution and a completely unique way of getting into the Slayer's good books.

What the hell. He could think on his feet. He could show that he cared—showing he had soul should be a piece of cake. For a few days at least. Until he had the Slayer exactly where he could snack on her.

"There's vampires with soul's now? Who ever saw that coming?" Her perky bewildered voice behind him actually hit something soft inside him and he thought—without his usual menace—that he's struck gold on this idea to whittle away her normal defences.

Spike turned and got his first good look at her—blonde with green eyes and a slightly panting body, emphasising the more than cute little package. Oh yeah, getting close to this one wouldn't prove much of a hardship at all.

"No one's ever seen me coming, Goldielocks." Feeling himself pumped with more balls than sense, Spike reached out and took her hand, marvelling for the briefest second the softness of her skin and the heat of her touch before tugging her behind him and into the group of her friends.

"On your bike now, luv. You've got no chance of winning here." Spike watched in amusement; Darla looked confused.

She took one impulsive step, as if to attack, then grabbed hold of her hungry companion with the fashion-reject shirt and ran, vamp speed having them out of sight in minutes.

"Whoa," Buffy panted, impressed. "You're much more with the helpful than creepy stalker guy."

Whyman: Yeh, when a straw pushes him/her over the edge

meganpeta: do you think finding out angel is trying to save the slayer would be enough?

meganpeta: is it the belief that they all knew he had a soul when darla kicked him out?

Sue Whyman: Hmm. Depends on where you are taking it from and to

meganpeta: maybe if they screw him over somehow

Sue Whyman: Like you could change it so that instead of Dru needs sire's blood she needs a sire's shag

meganpeta: angel doesn't want him because he's souled

meganpeta: then the killing od Darla

meganpeta: and Dru punishes spike for not stopping the break up of the family?

meganpeta: he could snap for copping the blame when he's had nothing to do with it

Sue Whyman: That works too

meganpeta: and reluctantly team up with Buffy and the gang to get rid of the Master

meganpeta: if he's going to be blamed he may as well cock the whole plan up altogether

Study Karma Sutra with willow…decides to seduce him after seeing him flirt with someone else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

He didn't need to fake his amusement. "Creepy stalker guy? And who'd that be, luv?"

The Slayer shrugged. "Just some random oddball that followed me into a dark alley and then gave me a mouthful of cryptic before slinking back into the shadows. He gave me presents, though."

Her voice was cute, in that bubblegum way that Spike normally hated but this time found...well…cute. But not enough to forget the words that had passed those glossy lips.

Spike cocked a brow, trying and failing to adequately interpret that twisted explanation, though the modus operandi rang a bell or two in his subconscious. "An' this generous soul didn't cough up with a name?"

"Nope. But nothing to worry about, right. He's with the silver crosses; you're with the soul and the saving of my friends. I know which Good Samaritan I'm backing." And she blushed as her interested look froze upon his eyes and she quickly found the ground fascinating.

It was the redhead—obviously light-headed in her shock—that brought the subject back from the brink of awkwardness. "I know I probably got hit in the head somewhere tonight, because dreams are kinda vivid in their oogyness, but soul? Can someone explain that to my woozy brain? And while you're at it…vampires?"

The Slayer's attention was back up from the thoroughly captivating grass and focused entirely back on him. It made Spike tingle in an unexpected, and yet not entirely unwanted way.

"Cool."

It was just one word, but the gooey smile on the Slayer's face—the one that indicated that she thought Spike was the hottest puzzle in the shop—nearly succeeded in making him colder than being dead had done in the first place. He was a bloody enigma now, and it scared him silly. Right then, he could do this. He could play this game and come out on top. Sod having a plan. He was a man—a bleeding master vampire for God's sake. He didn't need a plan to make this work.

"So how'd you get it?"

_Bugger!_

Spike felt a little buzzed at her enthusiasm. Her diminutive body fairly thrummed with excitement, and as catching as it was, it still didn't prevent his near panic driven rush for a reason to be the only vamp in the world with a soul. It wasn't like he had an example to follow—a real life story he could duplicate for the few days it would take to finish off his third slayer. So, he was left to grasp at straws. To conjure up some ridiculous reason why his demon was caged and intent on doing good.

Typical that his inspiration would have a blind spot. What other vamp would have thought to fake a soul in order to play a little game of cat and mouse with the Slayer without preparing a story? Spike felt a growl rumble low in his chest, cursing the thoughts and explanations that wouldn't flow through his brain fast enough to make sense. There was only one possibility he could think of, and it was so bloody farfetched he felt like laughing right along with the delivery of his lies. Except for the classic 'giving the game away' part of that action.

"Right," he desperately improvised. "Gypsy curse. Was a bad boy and the buggers stuck me with a soul and made me a good boy again. Veritable White Hat now." He preened, hoping his cocky confidence would get him through this even if the banality of his excuse didn't stand up.

The redhead looked at him with such a strong sense of respect that Spike almost felt guilty for the subterfuge along with his shock. No one had looked at him like that without being violently encouraged since he'd had to leave Dalton in charge of the minions, his haste to get Dru where she screamed to go forcing him to leave the nest without a holiday plan. He'd soon found that sucked all kinds of balls.

This was…nice. A human looking at him with such faith and belief that he really didn't deserve. If it weren't for Darla and his contrary nature to do anything the way she wanted, this little kiddy group would have already been slaughtered. Well, all right, the brave nature of the boy might have stilled his fangs momentarily too. But really, it was all Darla and Spike's juvenile urge to stick it in her eye.

"Man, you really saved our lives. And gypsies. How old are you, anyway? I mean, vampire right? Walking undead. You must have a story or two to tell. Oh oh," the brunette suddenly exclaimed, manners hitting him at full flight while he was steadily climbing the adrenaline rush that made him as gawky as he always appeared. "My name's Xander." And he thrust a hand out in Spike's face, overly eager to make the acquaintance of one who could easily kill him.

The non-existent soul inside Spike cringed. He'd won this lot over remarkably easily, and while that had been his intention all along, the way they were treating him—as someone they could possibly like and be interested in hanging around for his own sake rather than due to the ferocity of his nature—niggled at something inside that craved that kind of acceptance.

He gave a brief nod, his voice almost raspy with unaccustomed emotion as he introduced himself. "The name's Spike."

As his cooler hand clasped the warmth of human flesh, the other boy slumped with a weak smile. Spike jerked his head at the wounded figure, reminding them of the close call they'd just avoided.

"I think your boy might need some medical attention." They all followed his gaze and blinked, surprised, at the white pallor of their friend.

"Ohmygod, Jessie. We have to get him to hospital." The Slayer raced in to take an arm, her eyes briefly catching Spike's before darting away and another blush tinted her cheeks. Spike smirked before moving in and taking the human—now unconscious—and slung him over his shoulder.

"Where to?"

And they were off, a strange group of humans and pseudo-souled vampire internally shaking his head at what was without doubt the most bizarre couple of hours he'd ever existed through.

The Slayer kept close to his side, risking shy yet curious glances every couple of steps even during the seriousness of their flight. While every impulse in his body told him to toss his burden to the side and jump her, he wasn't quite decided on what he wanted to really penetrate her with. It near did his head in that he even felt a response to those giddy girly looks she was shooting at him, never having wanted anything from a slayer before but blood and their timely death by his hands or fangs.

Right, this Spike was soulful. And what the bugger did that mean anyway? Well, cut to the obvious, don't let the chit or her mates see him feeding. That would completely blow his story out of the water. Would probably do to distance himself a bit from Dru and her gaggle of gooselike minions for a while too. And why didn't that thought sit a little less easy with him? Having a break from his manic sire actually sounded like a blessed relief. One that he'd almost pay any price for.

"So how long have you had a soul for anyway?"

Spike could see the curiosity and interest flare to life in her eyes and almost got lost in the thrill of the sexual heat he was almost positive she didn't know she was creating. Still, there was a question in there somewhere and his mind struggled to grasp it before he mucked the thing up before it got started.

His pretend soul—came from his Wheeties packet that very morning. Should have come with a warning. 'Proceed with Caution or the Slayer will cut your balls off for lying'.

"Yeah, 's been awhile. Back at the turn of the century."

He almost laughed as three pairs of eyes bugged.

"Whoa. You're like, really old, man. That's kind of exciting and stuff. You must know all kinds of things." The boy who'd introduced himself as Xander—and what an unbelievably poncy name that was—looked at him in awe and Spike could feel another flush of pleasure shoot through his body. This being liked for not having done anything much was kind of addictive.

Spike almost stumbled at finally recognising the look that these children were bestowing upon him. They looked at him like he was some kind of hero—even the Slayer, who was a heroine in her own right. It made him feel dizzy that, without doing anything but repressing his natural demon reaction to food, he'd managed to get a degree of respect he'd as yet not achieved amongst his own kin. A faux soul could do all that—create miracles. It became a struggle for him to remember that it was all make believe, that more than likely at the end of a few days he'd be snacking on this lot. An image of their eyes staring at him in betrayal hit him hard and he could feel a lump rise in his throat. It wasn't what he wanted. Didn't want the naïve redhead looking at him any different to how she was now, seeing him as something other than the animal he was perpetually reminded he was by Dru's insane ramblings.

"I know enough. More than enough in some cases."

Before they could quiz him more, before they could get too far inside his head and begin to pick him apart, the hospital loomed large. They barely made it through the door before the body was liberated from his shoulders to a gurney and the Slayer had taken charge, informing the staff of a rabid dog out in the streets striking indiscriminately at the neck. What was even funnier—they bought it.

Only on the mouth of Hell.

The others had gathered in the waiting lounge, spending their time sharing out vendor machine goodies while they waited news of their pale friend. Spike stood uncertainly at the entrance, unsure what would be the soulful thing for him to do now. Retreat quietly and wait for the next opportunity, or go and sit amongst them and do his best to behave like he was one of the humans. The itch on the back of his neck decided him and he saw the subtle lightening of the night through one of the few windows to the outside.

He was about to turn on his heel, casting one last longing glance at the surprising group he'd encountered, when he felt her arm at his elbow. The soft crunch of his leather was almost sensual as her touch lingered and he slowly turned toward her. She was smiling and it overwhelmed Spike in that second how truly gorgeous she was.

"I don't think I told you my name," she said earnestly, like she really wanted him to know that she wasn't just the Slayer.

When she didn't continue, Spike smiled, feeling the decided lack of need for his patented smirk. This was information he wanted, and suddenly not just for the purpose of psyching her out and killing her. He wanted to know the name that went with the face as badly as he wanted to stay in that room with a bunch of kids who'd appreciated him more in thirty minutes than his entire family had in a century.

"An' what's that, pet?"

"Oh," she startled, realising that maybe she'd given herself away by the way she'd been intently studying every gorgeous plane of his face. "Buffy." Her voice was a husky whisper, her hand still lightly resting against his forearm and Spike felt the automatic laugh die abruptly in his throat.

"Beautiful," he felt compelled to say, and then he turned and left them behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

He smelt Angelus while on his way to shelter. Feeling buoyed with spirit and a half cocked plan, Spike had wandered during the remaining night while he searched for an acceptable place to sleep. Somewhere that was far enough away from the caterwauling tripe Dru would no doubt be squealing and the possible meeting of his family line. Instead, he'd almost tripped over the stench of Angelus while traipsing around the Hellmouth too close to dawn. Spike was just thankful the poof kept his distance. He'd had enough daft lessons in spinning lies for one night.

Truthfully, he still didn't know how to go about any reunion with his grandsire. They'd parted at a time when the foundations of their little foursome were slipping through each of their control. Angelus had left in the night while the rest were out hunting. Sure, Darla hadn't been quiet in her efforts to shame him out of their existence, but truthfully, Spike hadn't really believed he would go. At least, not without Dru.

Kicking Angelus from the pack had hidden Darla's true agenda. She'd wanted to bolt and couldn't be upfront about it, which was pretty true to form with the former prostitute. She'd never been the type to come out and be forthright. Underhanded and seductively dishonest, that was the granddame of their little family.

Without even meaning to, Spike stopped at the door of a crypt. It wasn't the ideal place, being so far from the nearest shade if he needed to make a quick exit while the sun was out, but it would do in a pinch. He could always go looking for something else the next night, when he knew the lay of the land a little better. All he really needed was somewhere that no one would think to look for him. And if he couldn't escape during the day, then Dru wouldn't be able to locate him till he'd managed to think through what he'd done.

Managed to sort out his thoughts in relation to the Slayer.

She was perky, and he liked it. Not enough to let her live, mind. But enough to indulge in some fun. And the kind of fun he could envision with this Slayer had his mind and body turning in twists. The way she'd looked at him hadn't been different to other women over the years—right before he'd revealed himself and ripped out their throats. That gush of horror mixed with attraction was an unbelievable high. No, not a different look, just more unusual for her already knowing what he was—assumed soul or no.

This time the game had changed. He'd unwittingly set himself up in an experiment that had provided him with time he'd never utilised before. Time he'd wasted with the quick kill. Drawing the Slayer out would be fun. It would be righteous to his vampire code.

It would be what Angelus had endeavoured to teach him over twenty long years of humiliation. And that thought alone froze his blood. That and the mental image of the Slayer's friends staring at him with hurt for making them trust him when he was nothing but a cold-blooded killer. That look of horror wasn't there when he imagined their deaths; only the hurt that a friend had turned on them. It made him uncomfortable and Spike was hard pressed to understand why. It's what he was, what he did. Trick humans into trusting him before diving in for the kill. He existed for the blood. He lived through depriving others of the privilege and he had never felt guilty about it before.

Now he'd crossed paths with Buffy.

Buffy. He couldn't even let his brain go down the path of laughter and sarcasm. He'd read a subtle perfection in her name and he couldn't take the fun in its silliness like he would have ordinarily. That she'd shared it with him—and under the circumstances of hopeful friendship—hit him deeper than he'd liked. However, it shifted the balance and he suspected this eagerness of hers for him to know her as a girl was what was causing his sudden attack of conscience. He had to banish it and get back to normal. He'd kill someone when he awoke—somewhere out of her view of course. Wouldn't do to blow the cover now he'd been received with open arms.

The distant alarm of pending sunlight made him drowsy and Spike found his way to the top of a sarcophagus. Letting his coat slip down his arms, he wadded it into a pillow and shoved it under his head. Arms flexed, he propped them under his skull and contemplated the ceiling. It was the first time he'd slept alone since Angelus was around to remind him Dru wasn't really his. Having her infidelity shoved in his face over and over had weakened him, yet made him determined to make her love him. Now it was a century later, and he'd never achieved that goal. And now the paternal figure of their family was back in range; Spike just knew it would balls up everything he'd gotten used to over the years.

Weary blue eyes were shaded by lids determined to close and Spike shut down his unhappy thoughts, eager to get the rest that would bring him back to the situation refreshed and hopefully full of plans. Hoped the night would bring him back to the Big Bad that he seemed to have lost sight of at the appearance of his fake soul.

And the little blonde that would dust him if she ever sniffed out the truth.

The thought of her hate suddenly seemed wrong; painful. He just needed some sleep to get it all back into perspective. As the last remnants of conscious thought drifted away, Spike knew he'd wake up with a renewed desire to sink his fangs into the Slayer. He just needed forty winks and then his world would be back to rights.

Then he'd be back to being Spike.

Her dreams had been filled with the relentless swagger of a vamp she couldn't stop thinking about. Buffy blinked sleepily before sinking back into her pillows and conjuring his image in her mind. His hair was radioactive, but it kinda suited him in a weird retro fashion. And that coat—she'd die to have a thing of beauty like that. Except maybe more on the newer side of the cow. And those eyes—they burned her insides despite being of an arctic blue. And it didn't take much imagination to picture the muscular build hidden under his eclectic wardrobe. He suited black, and he was just too yummy for words.

Thinking of how obvious she'd been in her attraction brought a high flush to her cheeks and Buffy groaned aloud. Why did she find it so difficult to think after the fact? Usually she was so level-headed around the underworld, but the thought of this one demon with lips that were full and she just knew could kiss like sin had completely thrown her. He had a soul, so that made it okay…

Didn't it?

Buffy smiled. Of course it did. He was one of them. Fighting on the side of justice alongside the good guys—and he was as hot as hell. She couldn't believe her luck.

"Buffy. Hurry up or you'll be late for school."

Her mother's voice floated up the stairs with all the dream shattering effects of a Jumanji stampede and Buffy groaned as she rolled from her bed. School: the necessary evil. Until two days ago, she'd been all set to be Normal Girl and do nothing but casually fail her classes like everyone else in her grade. With the abrupt acceptance of her duty in this new place, she'd shot that mission all to hell. Now that she'd managed to initiate her schoolmates to the realities of their nightmares. As well as get one of them hospitalised. It sure beat attending Jesse's funeral, though. And now that she knew these people, refusing to try to keep them safe just seemed petty. And who could refuse to fight off the forces of evil when she suddenly had the likes of Spike by her side?

The thought of late night patrols with him by her side, his coat subtly battering her legs—which meant she'd be walking super close to him—really made her destiny something exciting for a change. She'd lived through the downright frightening aspect of it, and now with the prospect of romance, she could see more pluses than minuses to being a chosen one. Well, that was settled then. The Slayer was in heavy duty crush mode. Now she could drive herself crazy wondering if the sexy hot vampire felt even a little of the same excitement over meeting her.

She could find out when she dragged him out to patrol with her tonight. If he was all with the soul having, and being a white hat, then he wouldn't mind watching her back. It'd be more than nice to have someone looking out for her for a change. Especially if it ended up that he was just as happy to watch her front as well. Buffy knew that she could pass out with delirious satisfaction if she could do some major watching of him, too.

It was amazing what a bit of Spike preoccupation could do for her 'getting to school on time' skills. Dressing, trading the usual side-step conversation with her mother at breakfast and heading off to school had all passed in a peroxide and black leather blur. Not that she would complain, except for when Giles raised an eyebrow and gave her the adult look of suspicion.

"See, ordinarily I couldn't do this. The talk. About vampires. A talk with vampires in it. But meeting Spike, gave me a bit of hope, you know? Sure, the other guys were bad, all with the spooky…and the fangs…and the putting Jesse in hospital, but how freaking romantic to have a vampire with a soul save us all. I love this guy. You think he'd mind having a groupie?" Xander looked eagerly at Buffy, hope and excitement making her want to laugh.

They'd gotten passed the 'demon's are a human form possessed' discussion and had flown straight into the 'how is this possible' conversation regarding the existence of souled vampires.

"I am certain you were rather lucky this Spike came along when he did. It sounds like disaster may have occurred without his help. But still, it is surprising that I haven't heard of his existence before." Giles's posturing left the teens to shrug noncommittally as they became lost in thought.

Jesse was in the hospital still, though he'd be getting out by that afternoon. But surviving a close call didn't mean that Buffy could avoid the job of finding out exactly what last night was about. She'd almost lost three of her new friends in one night and that reality didn't sit well with her inherent slayerness and sense of responsibility. She may hate her life now, may hate her destiny, but if she could do something to make sure her friends were tucked up safe in bed at night, then she had a duty she couldn't ignore.

And in typical freaky fashion, the conversation turned on its head—pushed away from the glorification of souled vampires and the romance of it all—to the guessing of what Buffy was.

Giles stood before them, all heart attack serious in his regulation tweed. "For as long as there have been vampires, there's been the Slayer. One girl in all the world, a Chosen One."

"He likes doing this part." Buffy didn't mean to mock, but it was so easy to do while he glared at her with lack of humour. With impatience and frustration.

"All right. The Slayer hunts vampires, Buffy is a slayer, don't tell anyone. Well, I think that's all the vampire information you need."

Xander begged to differ. "Except for one thing. How do you kill them?"

She thought they knew this part. "_You_ don't. _I_ do."

Xander was going to argue, and by doing that, he did bring up Jesse. They'd been so lucky the previous night. If Spike hadn't been there, Buffy had no doubts the blonde vampire with the trashy school girl look would have dragged her new friends into Hell. If not terrifying them before their death, then recreating them in the face of evil. Still, it brought back the focus and what she still had to do.

"This big guy, Luke. He talked about an offering to the Master. Now, I don't know what or who, but if they weren't just feeding then Jesse and Willow may have been a planned sacrifice or something. I'm gonna find where they were going to take them."

As much as she liked Willow, Buffy felt like rolling her eyes when the redhead suggested leaving the situation to the police to resolve. That would go nowhere near making Sunnydale safer and eradicating whatever this episode of badness was. If anything, it could make the bad occur faster by supplying whoever with a large group of useless officers for lunch. So, with minimal pointing out of stupidity, they moved on, trying to find a clue where to start the search. A lucky thing Buffy was switched onto the entirely too strange habits of the undead. A little technology and Buffy was ready and able with a place to start.

That didn't mean it made sense.

"There's nothing here, this is useless." **She** felt useless.

"I think you're being a bit hard on yourself." Coming from a watcher, the words seemed far too forgiving.

"You're the one that told me that I wasn't prepared enough. Understatement!" It wouldn't be so bad if she'd actually been paying attention. Slaying wasn't just about the fight—and the death—of the creatures of the night. It was about foiling plots and making the world safe. Now that she'd decided to live with the inevitable, these were things Buffy felt she'd have to try honing her skills at. The observation skills that may keep herself and her friends alive. "I thought I was on top of everything, and then that monster, Luke, came out of nowhere..." And who said she was as dumb as Harmony? Light bulbs flashed in her brain and Buffy had her starting point.

Buffy stood still as she thought over her almost fatal fight with Luke. Until an exasperated Xander leaped in and jumpstarted her to consciousness.

"What?"

"He didn't come out of nowhere. He came from behind me. I was facing the entrance, he came from behind me, and he didn't follow me out. The access to the tunnels is in the mausoleum! The girl must have doubled back and escaped through there while we were distracted with Jesse and Spike! God! I am so mentally challenged!"

Dammit, nobody disagreed with her. And she was meant to be all accepting that they wanted to jump the superhero wagon and come seek out the baddies with her? Hell no. Not likely.

She sliced through all their objections with unintentional putdowns, leaving Xander feeling inadequate—and that kind of made her giggle on the inside—and left them with Giles to feel important in the fight against darkness by researching The Harvest. She'd almost forgotten creepy stalker guy and his warnings of vague doom.

Which was kinda dumb she soon found when he snuck up behind her in the crypt.

She could have sworn that there was no one behind her, but as she rattled the chain on the entrance to the underground tunnels, he snuck up behind her, his unnecessary breath exhaling on a note of expectation. First impressions had Buffy seeing him as some weird guy who stalked her in the shadows. This time she got a better look as he stood in a more moderately lit area, the sun beating down on the stone building from the outside. Maybe if she'd never met Spike, she could have considered him good-looking. Maybe. As it was, Buffy found it hard to think of him as anything but creepy. In that sleazy way you do when someone sneaks up behind you on an increasingly regular basis.

"I don't suppose you've got a key on you," she asked by way of making conversation. Buffy almost didn't expect him to answer, but if he did, being vague was really what she'd counted on. He didn't disappoint her.

"They really don't like me dropping in."

That smirk was really off-putting.

"Why not?" If he knew what was down there—who was down there—then how come he kept his distance? Suddenly the thought of beating him for less obscure information seemed like a good plan. If nothing else it would let loose some frustration. Pity she wasn't allowed to just go attacking innocent bystanders, even if they did annoy her with their obscure warnings.

"They really don't like me." He smiled.

Weird much? She didn't know who this guy was or what his game was, but he was starting to spook her. Who followed young girls around cemeteries and into crypts to deliver such inane conversation and without asking her what she was doing? Better yet, how did he know all this stuff? Buffy could see through his game, though. He was playing with her, teasing her with half-delivered information and seeing what she would do with it. He knew the secret plans of these vamps who'd tried to eat her friends, and yet he hung around on the outside of the gathering. No, he was way beyond creepy. He was psychotic. She needed to be wary of this guy and watch that he didn't attack her. Who knew what to expect from the crazies of Sunnydale?

"How could that possibly be?" Sarcasm obviously hadn't been diverted by the simple calm placating that a wary slayer should have reverted to. Buffy's mouth—as usual—was working faster than her brain, still she felt reasonably safe around him for now. Just.

"I knew you'd figure out this entryway sooner or later. Actually, I thought it was gonna be a **little** sooner."

He was so smug, and she _so did_ work this out fast. Nobody else had.

"Sorry you had to wait." Buffy tried to be patient, but this guy was ruining her plans. "Okay. Look, if you're gonna be popping up with this Cryptic Wise Man act on a regular basis, can you at least tell me your name?" She watched him expectantly, all manner of possibilities running through her head. He looked like a…Ralph. Or maybe a Derrek.

"Angel." The name flowed from his lips with a certainty that Buffy really questioned. As if anyone would name their baby Angel, knowing that one bright and shiny day that Angel would be a man.

Still, Spike hadn't laughed at her name the night before, even though she could see that he'd initially wanted to. Wasn't like she hadn't had that happen before.

"Angel. It's a pretty name." So is, though slightly inappropriate for a large man with an evil leer and the distinct absence of wings on his back. Still, talking about names and remembering Spike's reaction to hers wasn't getting the info she needed. She needed to put the puzzle together, and getting the intel from dark and broody wasn't doing it for her.

She turned back to the entrance of the cavern and held her breath. She really didn't want to go down there.

"Don't…go down there." He spoke with a small edge of concern in his voice and it stopped Buffy in her tracks.

"Deal with my going." He really should not be trying to tell her how to do her job. And who the hell was he anyway? She had his name but no rank and serial number.

"You shouldn't be putting yourself at risk. Tonight is the Harvest. Unless you can prevent it, the Master walks."

And there he was again with the cryptic messages and the knowing so much more of what was going down in this town than she or her watcher did. That so wasn't right.

"Well, if this Harvest thing is such a suckfest, why don't you stop it?"

It really wouldn't bother her if someone else wanted a go at stopping the damage-bound monsters of the world from unleashing hell on earth. It wasn't like she was a control freak and just had to stop all the bad guys.

"'Cause I'm afraid." And the Angel grinned.

Buffy smiled, even though she couldn't work out if he was kidding or truly worried. Still, if he didn't want to help, and he didn't want to tell her about this Harvest thing, then she was probably going to be making a big mistake by diving into a situation that she had no understanding of. It was just an assumption, but there could be a whole horde of vamps down there. Until she had more of an idea—or someone at her back—it would be foolish to take off into the unknown. She was kinda glad this guy had stopped by to talk to her some more and give her time to think the plan out a bit better.

"You know what? I think you're right. I won't go down there just yet. I'll wait till my partner can go with me." Buffy stopped and felt an enormous smile consume her face. "He's got a soul, you know!"

The Slayer completely missed the look of bafflement that swept across Angel's face as she pivoted and almost bounced out of the crypt. She left him standing in the shadows, a finger pointing at his chest and his mouth flapping silent words of shock.

"A soul? But I'm the one with a soul."

And he stared petulantly at the fading back of Buffy Summers as she skipped away, confused and frustrated that someone had apparently stolen his identity. And then another word hit him in the gut.

"Partner?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

She'd tasted unsatisfying.

Spike propped himself against the stone wall of the alley, looking contemplatively at the stack of refuse behind the shop, not seeing the body of the girl he'd drained and discarded but thinking of it nonetheless. He was entirely lost in thought, wondering at the lack of thrill in the blood, and not seeing the usual poetry of the kill.

Buffy's hand on his shoulder had him spinning in his mind and his non-beating heart almost exploding with adrenaline at being caught.

"Hey. Whatcha doing?" Her smile was beatific and excited. For him.

Spike looked dumbfounded, then remembered himself and quickly wiped his mouth in case any blood had remained on his lip. By the look on her face he assumed she had no clue what she'd inadvertently caught him at, and it was good if he could keep it that way. Right, leading her out of the alley was a bleeding brilliant first step.

"Actually, pet, was looking for you." The lie popped out of his mouth without any real thought, but as her face lit up he wondered if maybe he'd wanted to be and that's why the freshly tapped blood had lacked the usual zing.

It was no use. This confusion he felt wasn't going to have him lose focus while only around the Slayer. Even with her presence far away from him he was all muddled up, wondering if he really knew what he was doing. He'd never questioned himself before, taking it for granted when things occurred to fuck up his perception. Now, it required contemplation to work out why he was waning in his determination to kill her. Needed explanation why her smiles made his body feel light and tingling in preparation for…something.

"I was kinda hoping you might wanna go on patrol with me?" Buffy was going for subtle-flirty-casual, but her eagerness made her forget herself. "I have to check out that mausoleum and try and work out this Harvest thingy. Might be a case of safety in numbers." Buffy looked up at him, hope bursting from every tensed muscle of her body.

Her anxiety was a turn on, Spike found, but not in the way he'd been expecting. She wanted to be around him, and the shock still hadn't dispersed. She actually wanted to be around a vampire—him—when he'd put an end to two of her kind this century. While he'd capitalised on the girlies being all hearts aflutter for him in clubs and other scenarios as a quick satisfying meal, he'd never had the opportunity of seeing them as anything but chow. Buffy was more before she'd even opened her mouth.

For one fascinating instant, Spike wanted to take time off from being himself. Go with the chit and see what it would be like to be something other than what he was for a change. What could it hurt? To take a time out and see how the other half actually lived—when he wasn't making sure they got good and dead.

"Nothin' better to do. Lead the way, luv." He could feel the heat of her body as she moved beside him, felt the fire of her gaze when she thought he couldn't tell. He felt robbed of all his sense and hard won identity by the time they drew to a stop outside the same crypt that had seen the action the previous night.

They hadn't spoken one word on the whole trip. Hadn't needed to as Spike tried to block out the easy way they were together with the image of a terrified redhead laying in a tangle of limbs back in the alley. That's who he was—what he did. He had no real place for a soulful outlook, even if he was pretending to have one. Which begged the question, didn't it. How bloody long was he planning on this pretence of goodness? How much of himself was he prepared to sacrifice just to get under the Slayer's defences?

"Remember Creepy Stalker Guy?"

Buffy pulled him to a stop outside the stone structure and Spike tilted his head and watched her. She was so young, so innocent and yet so distracting in an uncomfortably appealing way. There was something different in her mix—something other than the rippling power of the universe making her the Slayer. Something that added to the complexity of her failure or death. Something that threw Spike completely off his game.

"Yeah. Is he still following you?"

Buffy grimaced, and then nodded her head. She was standing so close, her body barely a touch away from his and it made the air around them almost crackle and seem heavy and tense.

"Um, kinda? Well, if you mean does he pop up behind me wherever I go, then big with the affirmative. In fact, I was just bringing it up because I'm expecting him to be behind door number one. Wanted to give you a heads up, even though I told him I wouldn't be going down in that vamp nest without my partner to back me up. He wasn't interested in the job." Buffy stopped and her eyes widened comically as the impact of her words on Spike finally registered. He looked totally gobsmacked.

"Do you need me to protect you from the Big Bad?" He should have sneered, really he should have. He'd meant to. Started to. His lips were obviously broken, or maybe it was just his brain. Every time he was around her she surprised him and his reactions became unfamiliar.

"Shyeah. As if. I just thought it'd be kind of nice—" Her eyes dropped to the ground, hands and body shifting nervously as she admitted what she'd hoped. "If maybe you'd watch my back."

The last time Spike had been shocked into have eyes that bugged was when he'd walked into the middle of his first ménage a trois, Angelus pumping into Dru like a racehorse while Darla rode his back complete with crop. At the mention of her back, all Spike could suddenly see was sweat slickened skin and his hands aching to touch. The answer seemed more than obvious.

"'Course, pet. It's what us souled vamps are here for." Such an abomination of words should have choked him to get passed his throat—yet they were delivered with an ease that Spike couldn't have thought possible. This bloody chit certainly kept a bloke on his toes.

Mention of the dreaded 'S' word brought thoughts to mind he'd tried to keep at arms length while he'd rested. What it would mean to have a soul—to actually be the vamp she thought he was. The word itself had been like a trust switch and once thrown, he didn't even have to prove himself. Sure, she expected him to turn on his kind—and being that the majority of those he hung around were a bunch of wankers, it wasn't too big an ask. Even the prospect of leaving Drusilla behind didn't cut as deep as it might have once. It was funny how much a man cut himself off and saw the outside world clearer when the woman he'd loved—convinced himself he'd loved—for the past century mentioned another name once too often.

Spike had been forced to follow the psychic whim of his sire as she searched for Angelus. Dru had refused to accept that she wasn't loved. Some pretty twisted pixies had whispered lies in her ear, promising that if she could just find him, he'd want her back. It was nothing but smoke and mirrors and another example of how shot her poor mind was—again thanks to Angelus.

But if she was right—if they did find the bastard that had made a profession of tearing Spike's world apart time and again by trailing his stubby hands over Dru and leaving the brunette shaking in lust—then everything Spike had been would be over. He knew enough—felt the urge deep enough—to believe that. He knew Angelus was here, residing in this hungry mouth of hell. He just wondered which one of them would be devoured first.

Now the Slayer was warning him that the demon Spike most wanted to avoid could be right behind the door, listening in on their conversation and hearing Spike's distinctive accent. She didn't know it, of course. Couldn't have a clue about the family connection between the two master vampires who were playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse with her. But he was brought into a possible confrontation a lot quicker than he'd planned. Took some skill to avoid those that were too close. He knew Dru had already found her way. Of course he'd heard how The Master was trying to get a leg back up into the real world. As far as he was concerned, the silly sod deserved his underground tomb and should bloody well stay there and keep out of the younger generation's hair. It didn't surprise him at all to know that Darla had slinked back to be at the old codger's beck and call, and now Dru and Angelus had found their roots.

Well, not Spike. No bloody way was he getting involved in such a pissy plan. It would fail. As much as he didn't know about the Slayer and her mates, he knew that she'd win. The scent of victory clung to her, and even though he'd managed to get himself under her wing and her trust in his absent soul, he didn't want to be the spy in her ranks.

For one brief moment, he saw himself more as the lover in her bed. Though he suspected she was too innocent to allow him that close, he couldn't stop the sudden phantom thump in his chest at the hope he could convince her to. As soon as the image of naked flesh began to make him stare at the reality in front of him, he remembered the sprawled body of his latest victim. He was standing beside the Slayer now, wondering at the pleasure the thought of naked Buffy flesh brought him even while he had another woman's warm blood thumping through his veins. Suddenly he felt wrong, and in agonising confusion, Spike stared at the ground.

There was nothing he could do. If it was his fate to encounter Angelus behind this door—some kind of cosmic payback for wanting to keep the Slayer's back—then he'd accept it. Embrace it for what it was. His penance for not being the right amount of demon. For letting his own side down while his evil nature battled with the desire to feel real. Wasn't like the git wouldn't expect it. He had always been saying Spike was never enough. Over a hundred years had proven him correct. Not enough for Angelus to stay and raise them right. Not enough for Dru to love him despite the magic she'd seen the night he'd died. Not enough for Buffy unless he lied about who he really was.

For the first time he wondered what it would be like: to be the Slayer's lover—her beloved. To be the one she trusted above all others, the one who kept her balanced and alive. The one who fought by her side and kept evil as far from their pinnacle day as he possibly could. It was a fantasy that proved Spike should be dusted just for thinking it.

He hadn't noticed that Buffy had caught his eyes and that they had begun staring at each other with longing and interest. She barely blinked as she seemed completely lost. Time passed slowly and Spike could feel the earth shift them closer together. He could feel the warmth of her body on the night—could feel it reach out and catch him in its spell. He didn't want this, not really, and yet he couldn't turn his back on it and let her know his lie. Really didn't want to see the look on her face when she took that step back and placed a stake in her empty hand.

"We should probably do this." Her voice was husky and it made her sound older than he guessed she was. He wondered if she was talking about the search, or if she was eager to explore the more obvious possibilities between them.

Spike nodded, willing to head off on either one of those options as soon as she let him in on which she'd chosen. As soon as she dropped her eyes, he knew. Right, they were risking the poofter. Great.

Spike took a deep breath as he dug into his duster pocket for his cigs. He lit up with sexual flare, smirking as he heard the escalating heartbeat of the girl beside him. She seemed awkward as she rushed passed him, brushing against him like a whisper in the dark, and pushed open the door.

The interior was black, barely any light from the moon shining inside. Spike inhaled, then let out the air in a relieved rush. "Whoever's been stalking you, pet, he's not here. Looks like it's just you and me." He saw her subtle shiver and felt himself grinning. He still had it, whatever it was. Just because it never impacted on Dru didn't mean he was completely hopeless as a man.

Sticking as close behind her as he could without touching her, Spike followed her to a chained gate.

"Looks like they're not eager to let us in, luv." He reached passed her face and gave the gate a bit of a rattle. It may have emphasised his point, but that wasn't his motive. Something was happening to him, and he couldn't describe it, no matter how much he wanted to. But there was this compulsion to be near her, to tease the force around her to see if she'd break and allow him close. Allow him to flow into her skin and break his own barrier of propriety between soulless vamp and slayer.

He left his fingers curled through the wire of the gate, his face an inch away from her cheek. Buffy didn't move, didn't breathe from what he could tell. And then, slowly, her lungs resumed their normal scheduled activity and he marvelled at the rightness of it. And felt his body react in all sorts of ways as she gently exhaled and her body drifted closer to his. Felt movement of bits she didn't need to be exposed to just yet as he felt the sheen of aroused persperation raise up on her skin.

Slowly Spike dragged the pads of his fingers over the wire until he reached the padlock keeping them out. He sucked in a breath of her, his face turned into the side of hers as she stared straight ahead, and then yanked the bolt free. The shock of it moved her, and Spike almost collapsed in giddy excitement as her jump had the side of her breast brush against the inside arm of his duster. He gulped, and then nudged her forward with his hand in the small of her back. Her skin scorched him.

And his journey began.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

She obviously belonged in the dark. Spike strutted alongside her, holding slightly back to watch her progress through the tunnel and finding himself apprehensive the closer they drew to the Master's prison. Her stride was strong, purposeful, but he was a skilled vamp and could sense her fear—even if the scent hadn't been as strong.

The waft of terror was strong all along this underground tunnel. Spike watched her but she didn't sense everything that he did. Didn't know that humans had been led down here, not so long ago, and had ended abruptly. As strong as she was, he hardly expected her to remain stoic in the face of death—in those that she'd failed to preserve. He could wait for her pain—not craving it nearly as much as he had even the previous day.

Their progress was steady but cautious, and for that Spike was grateful. Each step brought him closer to a lifestyle he'd been fully a part of until just days ago. He'd been thoughtless and accepting of the life he drained away alongside his princess and minions. It was what he was, and as much as this slayer intrigued him—for reasons other than the fight to the death—he couldn't imagine being anything else. Didn't mean he didn't wonder at the possibility that he could.

And it didn't mean he was in any rush to carry out the plan, though. Not now he'd felt the static of her presence. But agreeing to this—actually deciding to keep her safe and fight by her side—challenged a piece inside of him that he was loathe to admit still existed. Brought him to a place where he could confront the demons of his kin with a slayer by his side at a time when he'd not been thinking clearly. It was too dangerous and not part of the plan.

How would this look? He'd already allowed Darla to announce his supposed soulfulness to the vampire world. Had she passed the info on to Dru and the Master? More than likely. The little bitch always liked to be the instigator of trouble—especially if it got old Spike in deep. Bigger question was how did he feel about it?

They pulled up just outside the lair—hopefully far enough away that the vamps within couldn't sense them. Couldn't sense that a slayer and a master vampire were biding time just outside their door.

He didn't want to go in there. He could hear Dru's cackle and knew if he turned up with Buffy at his side, his sire would expose him for the fraud he was. And he didn't want that. Didn't want Buffy to hear how it had been his plan to knock her off as he rolled into town. Didn't know why he wanted her to remain oblivious to his purpose, other than that he wanted her to keep the peaceful bliss between them.

Wanted her to believe he had a soul.

The thought should have made him nauseous, and in an attempt to reattach his balls, he conjured up the image of his latest victim, the redheaded lass, and suddenly the sickness intensified. He'd gone after a girl resembling Buffy's friend, the one who'd looked at him with hopeful acceptance. Now he could see the exact shade of their hair and wondered if it had been a subconscious substitute—an attempt to kill what he really didn't want to.

Buffy took a step—a hard determined step toward the hole in the wall. Spike felt himself flood with panic as he grabbed her arm, held her still and then yanked her back into his chest. His arm curled around her waist and he felt fire spring along his limbs, his body tingling inappropriately as she agreed to the contact. Agreed to it and sank further into his contours. A blast of her thumping heartbeat consumed his hearing and Spike could do nothing but hold still—very still so as not to make a decision he wasn't ready to weather the consequences. Once he'd taken that defining step, he knew there wouldn't be an easy escape, and killing the girl hadn't completely escaped his game plan yet. Even if the thoughts did leave him queasy. The act in itself might be the balm required to sooth his itch.

The smell of her hair almost brought him to his knees and it was only the warmth of her hand hesitantly covering his at her waist that drove sense back into him. In a complete turn around, her heat was like a bucket of icy water and Spike mentally slapped himself up the side of the head. This was too dangerous, allowing himself to be lost in the sensual promise of her young flesh in evil's backyard. It was like making out with the enemy's daughter while he lingered at the front door. Romeo and Juliet they weren't and the quicker he got his head together, the better they both would fare. Well, maybe not her. Not once he'd regained his focus and took her to the place he'd always wanted, ever since he was coerced into this deadbeat town.

Not enough steps away were his sire and the rest of his family—the ones that hadn't bolted on him anyway. In his arms he harboured their enemy. Against all that power, Buffy didn't stand a chance—and even though he wanted her dead, he would always be fair. And one little girl taking on plural master vampires in the name of saving the world was signing a death warrant. An' it just wasn't bloody cricket. Wasn't fun. No, until he could take her out on his own terms, he couldn't let her get herself slaughtered. Besides, knowing his luck she'd be just what the old bugger needed to escape his rather lovely underground prison.

Decision made, Spike squeezed his hand on her waist and pulled her with him as he took a step back. She resisted his physical message, but then the she turned and took in the silent force of his expression, and they retraced their steps out of the tunnel. Spike's hand never left the contact on her body the whole way—their path silent yet trembly as they gave in to the strength of their mutual attraction.

Buffy grasped his cool fingers when they reached the gate, some blink of fate allowing her to link gently with his. Spike felt the rising lump in his throat, felt the prickle of something that was not tears at his eyes. Why her acceptance of him and her interest was having such a damning effect on him, he didn't know. But he was failing to control it and he could see the worlds of disaster opening up right in front of him. Almost as clearly as he could see her glistening lips as she licked them almost nervously. She looked up and caught his gaze, Spike almost tripping in his mind at the naïve desire that was reflected there.

She wanted his kiss—and the knowledge stunned him.

Spike's lips tingled in need, though. Wanted with some life of their own to feel the soft promise of slayer lips—even as Spike himself reeled from realising the incongruous behaviour of the pair of them. This was wrong—though if he had a soul then maybe it wasn't so bad. **If **he had a soul—which he didn't. And he wasn't likely to get one anytime soon. Yet, her lips beckoned and the pull was strong. She still held his hand and Spike felt his other move to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking whisper soft against her skin.

The time for totally fucking up his life was at hand and Spike started to close in, his face falling closer as Buffy's eyes drifted shut. He could feel the warmth of the air barely between them, his own need to breathe suspended as the desired touch of their mouths became inevitable—and then the throat clearing that ruined the moment and alerted Spike to what he should have been able to sense immediately. Company in the guise of family, and suddenly he was willing to fight to the dust for this petite girl who was stealing the breath he didn't need, but felt a compulsion to cling to.

"Bloody hell, way to ruin the moment, Peaches."

The brunette startled, his eyes narrowing on what he hadn't even suspected. Living low and in hiding had made him rusty and with the overwhelming presence of his own sire, he was finding it difficult to use his vampire gifts the way demon nature intended.

"Spike?" His tone was disbelieving and Angel took a step closer to look at the girl who'd inadvertently redirected his path and taken over his heart.

The younger vampire had strategically positioned himself in front of the slayer—for what reason Angel could only guess. Spike had a reputation—had earned it on the eve of his own leaving, and Angel felt the twist in his gut that he might lose this girl before he'd even made much of an impression.

"Let her go, Spike." Voice hard, body tense, Angel waited for the younger to do as he was instructed, the authority of his familial position being automatic and in no need of relearning like his other senses.

"Not bloody likely. Not lettin' you step in to tear her to bits."

All three stood still, tense as the wait stretched. Then Buffy decided she'd had enough.

"Hey, down with the testosterone." The other words she'd planned died in her throat as Angel vamped out in front of her and growled around his fangs.

"Buffy, get away from him. He's a vampire and he'll kill you."

"Oh what a load of bollocks. I've got no bloody intention of killing her, you pillock." Spike was just getting started, finding a wealth of anger and hatred at being abandoned by the one who—maybe not cared exactly, but who held a duty toward him and Dru yet felt no hesitation in taking himself off and away to whatever draws a single unlife held for him. He wanted to twist that head off, see what colour his lumpy dust would be as it was sprung suddenly upon the air.

"Spike has a soul. He's not going to hurt me." Her green eyes and happy smile were proof enough that the option of souled Spike sat pretty with her. She watched Spike and simply thrummed with confidence in him.

If two thirds of the crypt's occupants hadn't already been dead, then the solid morbid silence might have been more overwhelming. As it was, the sudden quiet of the two males as they both reeled in shock would have been more entertaining if Buffy had been aware of the joke.

Angel recovered first. "W-what?" He was incapable of speech, the revelation too much for his lazy brain to cope with. It was pure luck that held him that way until Spike could get his head around the revelation and realise that all hell would break loose if he allowed the truth to come out now. Besides, it wasn't as if Peaches could refute his story. He hadn't been around for a hundred years so what would he know? And the existence of a souled vampire was just so fairytalish that Spike was banking on the fact that Angelus would be too stunned to argue.

"That's right. Yours truly's all souled up," Spike smirked, practically daring the Great Almighty Angelus to come up with a plan even half as creative. He was finding a bit of an upside to the declaration too. The light that shone from Buffy's smile almost singed his eyebrows. It caused an excitement to shoot through Spike's body that had been missing in his days for a very long time. This girl liked him, enjoyed being in his presence simply because . Sure, his strength might have been a tasty bonus, but he could tell she wanted more from the arrangement than just his muscle. Though he wouldn't be impartial to extending that little invitation a little further. Particular body parts had been a mite neglected of late. Dru had been practising abstinence in preparation to her big reunion. He'd thought it was for the Master, but now Spike could picture it easily. Dru, laid out on her back and legs in the air while Angelus pounded the living shit out of her.

The obscenity of those thoughts threw him and Spike was suddenly reminded whose presence he was in. Angelus, the greedy plonker that could never keep his mitts to himself. Well, not this time. Dru may have been his destiny, but Buffy was—well, did a bloke have to know these things in advance? She was something and he'd be dust before he let the evil greasy paws of his grandsire anywhere near the girl.

"Oi, what are you doing here anyway? Dru's been expecting you and I'd rather we just said our piece and act like ships passing in the night—all nice and quiet like." Spike very subtly began nudging Buffy to the open door of the crypt, ready to defend her if he needed to but knowing that she wouldn't exactly be all damselly—which he really liked in a woman. Especially this woman. Even Dru still expected to be protected and act all weak and kittenish—though Spike knew she was far from it.

They were almost there when the dazed confusion began to dissipate and Angel took a step to stop them. Not thinking, just reacting, Spike sent him flying against the wall of the crypt with a thundering punch to the jaw. The heavier vampire lay slumped on the floor, stunned, and Spike took his chance. Grabbing Buffy's arm, he tugged her forward and led her out of one brand of dark into the lighter pitch of open air.

Spike ran, only mildly surprised when slayer speed proved just short of a match for his own pace. Eventually he stopped, pulling her into an alley and watching around the corner to make sure they weren't followed. And then the memory of what Angelus had interrupted started to ache with the deprivation.

"You know that was creepy stalker guy, don't you? I don't think he would have, oomph—"

With one feather soft kiss, Spike slammed another door shut. He couldn't possibly kill a slayer he'd saved from his granpappy.

Not when her lips tasted of sunshine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

There was dreaminess involved. Much with the dreamy that Buffy couldn't wipe off her face, no matter how much she didn't try.

"You should have seen it, Will. Sure, Angel wasn't really much of a threat." She paused and contemplated. "At least, I hadn't thought so till he went all ridgy and fangy with the vampness. But anyway, where was I?"

"Drooling over the Spike kissage," Willow gushed and then giggled. She was so envious of Buffy. The souled vampire had seemed so very different to what Willow would have expected a vampire to be like, if she'd ever known they existed. And she didn't think it was even because of his soul, though that was a situation that definitely bore research requirements. And while she was happy her new friend had found love—or what was turning into the possibility of love—so soon after moving to Sunnydale, Willow couldn't help the little pulsing jealousy that made her want to change places and be the one to have felt that closeness with someone. If she was honest, she even wished a little that it could have been with Spike.

It was hard to be too resentful though when she watched Buffy melt at the mere mention of the vampire.

"It's so weird, Will. I mean, Angel has sort of been helping me out, you know, with giving me those cryptic clues about hellmouth badness, and his eyes looked so sad and he seemed to want to help, even if he was a little creepy. You'd think HE was the one with the soul, not Spike." Buffy snacked thoughtfully on her apple and completely missed the shift in Willow's comfort.

The redhead looked alarmed at that. "Do you think that's possible? Two vampires with souls?"

"Pshyeah, so not. I mean, come on, Willow. Don't tell Spike I said this, but don't you think the idea of a vampire with a soul is totally lame? And to have it forced on you because you don't have discerning taste in the people menu? Nope, I think it would be much more romantic to fight against the odds of your nature. To know that you were reborn into evil and yet fell in love with a beautiful girl and turned your back on it all, just so you could be with her forever." Buffy fell neatly back into the dreamy land she'd been in earlier, her mind's eye seeing a soulless Spike riding up on his swift black stead, sweeping her up into his arms and prodding the beast to gallop them away to safety.

"B-but wouldn't that be kind of dangerous? In a Romeo and Juliet kind of way?" Willow asked with a slightly nervous tickle in her voice.

"Huh?"

A crease deepened between the redhead's brows as she thought over the scenario. She could see the romance, just like Buffy said, but she could also see the danger, not least the possibility of herself being eaten on the vampire's journey to redemption. The vision of Jesse on a gurney, looking too pale mixed with the reality of knowing how close he could have come to being dead—or worse, turned—kept Willow feeling a little on the skittish side when it came to considering soulless vampires and how much control they might even have over their demons. What Buffy thought was romantic might not even be possible. Those vamps they'd run into the other night certainly seemed to have nothing on their mind but draining Jesse. And her. Willow still had nightmares just imagining the reality of becoming lunch—or well, dinner was probably closer to the mark.

"Can soulless demons actually have enough free will to choose to be good?" Willow thought it was a good question, one that she was going to be thinking about the answer to alot. Not that it was relevant to anything, but she was nothing if not inquisitive and an overachiever. Still, she didn't like that look of uncertainty and fear that clouded the Slayer's eyes.

"I don't know, Will. I guess not. They're evil, right? So, I guess without a soul they have no reason to feel guilty about killing innocent people."

Buffy looked so dejected, so unhappy that Willow wondered if she even realised that the existence of such an anomaly didn't even apply to her.

"Buffy, Spike has a soul, so you don't need to worry about it. Makes you wonder, though." She'd dived into the philosophical and Willow felt the familiar excitement that came with learning new things and thinking about worlds of possibilities.

Buffy's relief at being reminded that Spike was already restrained and fighting on the good side warmed Willow's heart. She would have hated to be the one to make Buffy question herself—consider the validity and propriety of falling for a vampire, whether he was bound with a soul or not.

"Wonder about what?" Buffy had jumped from being worried right into intellectual interest. She nibbled again at her apple while Willow put her thoughts out on the air, knowing that Buffy's attention span might not last. "Is everyone just born with a soul? I mean, do we all have a soul to lose? And if we do, how do some humans lose it. That could explain why some humans are beyond evil, right? There's serial killers, rapists, Snyder."

Buffy choked between a laugh and a chunk of apple in her throat. "Good one, Will. Not so sure we can lose our souls while we're still human, but I guess the reverse makes my job a little less clear cut. If humans can go bad and act evil, what's to stop vamps from trying to be good? And how can I dust them knowing they could have potential?"

Willow didn't even have to think. A crisis of faith and conscience in her job could get Buffy really really dead and that was something Willow would prevent at all costs if she could. "If their snackin', then you're slayin'. No time to put labels on them when you have lives to save. I think it's safe to assume that most vamps are out to put major holes in the population. Sure, there might be the odd vamp who wants something better. Maybe even one who falls for the beautiful girl and turns his whole existence around for love, but I don't think you'll find him in the graveyard, Buffy."

Buffy nodded, feeling the expected confidence in Willow's conclusions and recognising her need to eradicate evil from the world as something more than just her duty. It was something she needed. She never wanted to ever see another person she knew in a hospital bed—not if they were put there because she was being slack or Miss Avoidy Slayer. And if they ever made it to the morgue—well, that would only be because she'd gotten there first.

It was a quiet, contemplative walk back inside.

The library was filled with new soldiers to the cause. Xander sat at the research table, swapping jokes with a newly flushed Jesse while Giles flicked through some ancient tome in the background.

"Ah, yes, Buffy and Willow. I assume lunch was satisfying." Giles ducked back into his book, not waiting for an answer to the inane question and so missed the girl's conspiratorial amusement.

"Sure, Giles. It was a veritable feast and we had waiters and hey, even the merry ole Queen of England pulled up a square of turf to eat with us." Buffy watched Willow, an expecting smile tilting her lips and then broadening as Giles betrayed his preoccupation.

"Really? That's quite wonderful. Now, about this Angel you met on patrol last night—"

"So, Jesse, all up and about. How's all that blood pumping through your body?" Buffy rushed out, somehow feeling guilty yet not sure if he knew about what actually happened to him or if Xander had tried to keep him in the dark so as to not make himself look like a nutcase.

"It's the strangest thing, you know? I mean, I leave with this really hot girl, and wham…in the hospital with a chunk out of my neck. It's like some kind of corny Anne Rice novel. If I wasn't so sure I was hallucinating, I'd say that gorgeous blonde was a vampire. Freaky I know, but the accident must have caused me to hit my head or something. Stranger things haven't happened, right?" he joked, smiling around the table at his friends as Giles coughed in the background. It brought Jesse's attention to the strange group and he leaned over to Xander, his eyes watching everything warily. "Hey man," he whispered. "What's with the hanging around with the school librarian and making with the friendly? Did something happen while I was laid up?"

Xander giggled nervously, checking between the girls and Giles before he abruptly pushed his chair back with a screech. "You have no idea," he grinned before leading the way out of the place. Jesse shrugged at Buffy and Willow and followed.

The sudden silence echoed in their absence until Giles stepped forward and nervously approached Buffy with anxiety inspired hand wringing. "I do apologise, Buffy. I had no idea that it was your intention to not confide everything in this boy. I just assumed—well, we have all learned it is dangerous to assume, so I will keep my peace until you advise differently."

"No biggie. There was no harm done. Jesse's got some serious denial in his life, though." Buffy found it kind of amusing. She didn't mind if he knew her secret, but as much as it was Xander and Willow's choice to start accepting the darker side of life as real and to support her, it was their right to decide if their friend should know too. She'd already been a bad slayer and let the cat out of the bag. She didn't want anymore responsibility, though she wondered how smart it was to let him continue his oblivious life while living on the Hellmouth. Without the knowledge and the tools to adapt to the danger, he may not live for much longer. She'd managed to save him once—or rather, Spike had—but she didn't relish the opportunity of doing it again. She'd rather he made like a Star Trek guy and live long and prosper.

It was something she was beginning to accept she could never do.

"We'll tell him soon," Willow confirmed, somehow reading Buffy's mind. If not then the frown on her face had extra special revealing powers.

Buffy nodded, but still there was something niggling at her, and even though it was daylight, she couldn't help but feel whatever it was, it was too late.

Jesse stood and watched the blonde. Last night he'd gotten lucky and was able to walk by her side right out of there. Last night he'd looked cool to all those Sunnydale High sceptics that had expected him to finish school a virgin. He'd held his head high, strolled out confident and excited. Almost cocky. And then it had ended—he wasn't quite sure how. Or rather, he believed he knew how, just thought he had to be insane for it to be so.

Tonight she was back—but probably couldn't bear to look his way again. If what he remembered happening was true—and despite Xander's weird story about a pack of wild dogs knocking him over and almost mauling his neck till he was bled to death, he really believed it was—then he'd shown himself to be a loser. Whatever purpose she'd chosen him to fulfil, he'd failed. He'd bailed by knowing a pretty scary girl with superpowers and some bleached blond stranger that bounced out of nowhere. He'd been saved and the beauty that had smiled his way, had tasted his blood, wouldn't want to look at him again.

There was something locked far away inside that tried to argue that his way of thinking could very well get him dead, but that seductive thrill he'd felt at having sharp teeth slice through his soft skin like a heated knife through butter kept it weak and heading toward silent. She was dangerous. He couldn't deny it—and yet that precarious link she held between life and death thrilled him beyond anything he'd ever been able to grasp.

So it was that he was pulled forward and across a crowded dance floor to be once again within her grasp, despite his heart pounding the warning that she didn't want him—would only kill him, and without biting him at that.

Her eyes shone when she looked up and saw him. Recognition made something flare to life—anger at being made to look foolish, disappointment to find she'd wasted time on the likes of him, or eagerness to once again sip from his neck—but though he saw it, he could never put a name to it. He just wasn't that clued into women, into people, and so whatever truths he could have discerned from her gaze became something unreachable for the likes of him.

Her smile was enticing, cheeky as a perfectly manicured set of nails came out to lightly scratch down his neck—scraping while she stared in fascination at the bandage that covered her bite. Suddenly he felt aflame, didn't want the cover as the puncture marks flared to life and sought contact with their creator. The heat grew bolder, sharper and became so piercingly deep that he almost lost his breath. Sweat broke out on his skin as her hand wandered down over his chest. Last night had been all about appearances. Tonight was all about the pain, and he felt disturbed for craving more. Her hand caught at his and her fingers twined around his stiff digits, the tug on his hand a little more brutal than he would have expected from such a girl if he hadn't known what she was.

It was wrong, he knew that, yet as she led him to the door, pausing to lick purposefully, seductively on the unmarked side of his neck, he couldn't recall anything else feeling so right.

And so he was drawn out and back into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Darla was changing her plan. As soon as the boy had entered the building, as soon as she felt his stare on her body, she knew that an opportunity had been too ripely offered to be refused.

He didn't even have to be pursued, his eyes settling on her and making quick work across the room to be once again in front of her. His gaze was riveted on her legs and she grinned. The short skirt got them every time. Her lips formed a smile of satisfaction and the promising venture made her happy. Things were looking up, and if she played her hand as lightly as possible, she could use this one to all sorts of gain.

"Hey," Jesse greeted, trying for casual as he leaned against a pillar. Bodies were sweating from dancing fun all around him, the music pounding a rhythm so hard and loud he could barely concentrate, and yet his heart thumping in fascinated terror played louder than it all. His adopted cool slipped a fraction as amber flickered in her eyes and he stood spellbound waiting. She didn't keep him long, her hand curling around his and dragging him behind her into the dark that surrounded the club.

Her fingers were cold. He remembered it from the night before, but now he knew the cause. His heart seemed to jump a few beats before attempting to jam them back in between and making him almost faint with understanding. And against it all, his dick twitched. When had he ever cared about living? It was a given when he woke that each day he would draw breath and just be. This night had caused him to choose, and he wavered between desire and sense, his masculinity and need winning out.

It was a compulsion, though. This craving to be with her, to let her do to him whatever she was made for; turned for. He felt like she was there for him and him alone—to make him into something special. To teach him ways that had been denied to him by being sixteen and a loser. By being friends with nerds and geeks.

Darla turned to look at him, walking backwards while she still held his hand to guide. She was grinning, her smile sly and knowing. The tinkle of her voice was so girlish, so sexy and addictive. "I lost you last night. Not letting you get away again."

In his head it was the death knell and he felt the zip of tragedy all the way to his toes. His body was numb, his eyes scared but sure, and his hand began squeezing hers in acceptance.

"No chance of that," he told her, his voice only a little shaky. "I don't plan on going anywhere that you aren't."

And then she kissed him, a brush of the lips so soft he thought he was dreaming and his frightening introduction to creatures of the night really had been in his hallucinations.

A flash of the yellow eyes and fangs was all it took for him to believe.

He was drunk. Fall-off-your-barstool pissed as a parrot, and giggling like one too. Spike kept tapping the bar, growling at any barkeep that refused to refill his glass for free. Waiting for something to kick him in the arse and shove him back into the dark cave of his former life before he woke up and realised the monumental cock up he'd caused by simply opening his mouth. It seemed bullshit always flowed with a rapid current. Always with the bloody foot insertion. After a century he'd thought he'd grown out of the habit. He was proven wrong far too often.

A sharp sting at the base of his neck told him she'd arrived and his head hit the bar with a beer nut shattering accuracy. He groaned, the alcohol fuzzing his brain nowhere near enough for him to ignore that he was caught. He'd bloody kissed her, let his lips touch hers and know the sweetness of her innocence. He was completely buggered and he knew it. But that didn't have to mean he liked it.

He was almost tempted to go outside, lead her out by the nose, and off some poor sod right in bloody front of her. If that didn't get the trouble fixed, nothing could. Several things prevented that course of action, though. One, he'd bleeding well die admitting it out loud, but…he liked kissing her. She didn't have too much experience, and that naivety alone made him drown in her. She treated him as special. Girls don't go kissing blokes just for the hell of it. Not as a rule. Nor do the blokes kiss them back when they don't care.

He cared. And wasn't that the rub. She'd ripped the evilness right out of his body and left him flapping around all soulfulwithoutasoul, trashing his existence and all the comfort of a lifestyle he'd known for a hundred years—and he cared. It was almost too much for him to handle—driving him to drink rather than the next sunrise. But it wasn't all.

Angelus. His presence around the girl spoke of badness that Spike wasn't so comfortable with. He knew how the guy operated, and though he still hadn't worked out exactly what the drama queen was doing getting so close to a potential stake to the heart, his being around was enough to make Spike falter. He couldn't let Buffy succumb to the sleazy charm of his elder. He couldn't let Angelus win—whatever the prize was he sought. The pompous arse had taken everything from Spike at one time or another. He'd zeroed in on what was precious and he seized it with a malicious grin. Every. Fucking. Time. Well, no more. The Slayer would need Spike by her side, at her back and anywhere else he deemed necessary to protect her. He just couldn't help the panic that need instilled.

She was at his shoulder before he could swallow another shot. That annoyed him. Spike felt desperate to be wasted, having much faith in his ability to make sense of his world when he was three sheets to the wind. Her hand on his back as she fell into the barstool beside him and he was stone cold sober. Well, that tore it. He'd have to give her a piece of his mind. He'd have to assert his position and put her in her pl—

He couldn't think when she was kissing him. Silky soft lips brushed his in a tenderness of affection he'd never really experienced before. A small hand seemed to tangle with his, Spike spinning in his chair to better face her and allowing him to tug her closer. And then the hesitant point of her tongue slipped passed his lips and Spike felt the heat explode through his body like scorching magma.

She never got so close as to touch his body. The need to have that contact was akin to maddening, Spike's body buzzing in desperation. Though he could scent her unease and he held himself back as much as an experienced soulless demon could. This soul thing was becoming ridiculous, knowing beyond doubt that this mess would never have been created if he hadn't been inspired to spin webs of deceit.

Pushing him to his limits, Spike almost groaned when she stepped back, though the happy smile on her face left him stunned.

"Hey," she greeted, and Spike focused uneasily on the luscious green of her eyes and the healthy warmth of her skin.

What the fuck was he doing? Kissing the Slayer? Wanting more than her young body should be giving? He was out of his bleeding mind, make no mistake. Which completely explained why his hand lifted and brushed a stray hair off her face.

"Hey yourself," he agreed huskily, wanting to badly get back into either the kissing or the drinking, He'd be buggered if he knew at this stage which he wanted more.

Buffy looked at their hands still clasped together and felt giddiness wash over her. The music was pumping, life thrummed through the building, and she was with a really gorgeous vamp. One that she was falling hard for. It was a night made for fun and her friends were eager to see him again. Wanting to hear his side of the story in regards to Angel and going down to The Master's mystical prison. But first, she needed time for her—for them—and did her best to peel him from his stool and lead him out to the dance floor.

He looked confused once they stood in the centre of the throng of sweating dancing teens, almost as if he hadn't noticed her making him walk away from the bar. But once she'd wrapped her arms around his neck, placed her head against his non-vibrating chest, he melted into her and let the music envelop them. She was an addictive and persuasive bint and Spike was finding once his hands were on her, he couldn't let her go.

He couldn't have buggered things up more if he'd tried.

He'd woken up in her bed, her naked body curled around strangled sheets with her back to him. She was pristine but he was covered in bite marks and blood. His stare focused on the ceiling, admiring the brave experiment of a darker canvas against the relief of paler walls. It was nice. Sort of calming.

And then his lungs forced him to breathe.

Jesse couldn't work out if he was disappointed, though that would be pretty selfish considering all that he'd gained throughout the night. Or more accurately, what he'd lost. Blood wasn't even the half of it—not if his own birthday suit and sticky cock was to tally up. He was too exhausted to smile—too shattered to decide if he wanted to smile. All he could tell right now was that he had left that loser club of geeky virgins and that he wasn't dead.

Oh, and that vampires, and possibly other creatures that go bump in the night, were totally freakin' real.

Darla moaned and rolled onto her back, giving him a luscious view of her breasts. He felt crippled in hunger, realising too late that now he'd tasted her—that she'd taken blood from him—he needed much more to satisfy his urges.

Her greeting wasn't all it could be.

"Oh, it's you." Her cold calculating eyes fell to the stir of his cock, licking her lips as she moved to straddle him. He felt more afraid as she slipped his stiffness into her body than he had when she'd vamped and struck at his neck. The bite had quenched some thirst he had to be drunk. To renew that link that was created the first time she'd sipped from him. Her eagerness to taste him wasn't as desperate as he wished, but when he was in the throes of ecstasy with his blood leaking away from his neck, he didn't much care, as long as she didn't stop. As long as she fed his new addiction and allowed him sanity through provision.

He'd never felt anything so moist and tight around his cock before. Not even when he'd tried the age old apple pie routine. Nothing could match this sensation and Jesse rejoiced in his courage. Without it he may have been cast aside and never brought back here. Never felt the joy of being screwed within an inch of his life while she snuck blood from naughtier places.

All up, though, she was fearsome. She growled at him for pumping too slow, her claws slashed at him for coming too fast. And she bit him for just not knowing.

She terrified him and made him shake. But every little dig, every little cut told him his choice had been wise. Told him he'd found life by risking becoming dead.

And Darla just smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

It was wrong. No matter which way he twisted around the events that had dumped him on his ass, he couldn't make it look anything but horribly hideously wrong. But then, any occasion that had Spike dragging around its edges was enough to tip it toward bad right from the start.

He didn't have a clue what had happened. One minute he was paving his way into the Slayer's life—into Buffy's life—looking eagerly down the track of his redemption, when along came Spike with a cock and bull story that just happened to be his own existence. Well, as confused as he was, Angel had had enough. It wasn't fair—he was the one with the soul. He was the one who had allowed himself to fall so low through his certainty of damnation and guilt. Why did Spike get to walk in and claim everything Angel had been moving toward, all with a smile on his face and a fake soul in his flashy corpse?

Well, it stopped now. Stopped before the bleached pain-in-the-ass managed to snack on Buffy and bring an apocalypse down about their heads. As if there wasn't enough to be worried about with The Master trying to retrieve power and importance, now Spike had to come and complicate things even more. And again, Buffy. How had he managed to get to her, anyway?

He frowned, his brain tossing around the animosity and irritation he felt toward his grandchilde, focusing on how perplexed and frustrated he was that his plan had been interfered with. He had no choice but to get back on track, to reclaim his story from Spike and then spit in the ingrate's dust.

He was at a loss how to do it. Buffy was obviously already half enamoured with the hyperactive idiot. It wasn't like Angel was so blind he missed the dismissive glance she'd sent his way as she was half dragged out of the crypt. He'd built up the legend of this Slayer in his head so high that to see her gullible and trusting of a soulless vampire was a little too much for him to cope with. He didn't quite know how to protect her from the mess she'd gotten herself into. His only real option was to expose Spike for the lying, despicable fraud he was.

Angel wouldn't even consider the possibility that Spike could have a soul. He'd struggled with the pain and anguish being forced into a conscience entailed, and he'd spent a hundred years paying the price of a century and a half of evil depravity. He was unique and no way was Spike going to come along and steal his truth, his life, and his girl.

No way in hell.

It was the fifth day in a row that Jesse had turned up all but stoned. His skin was a waxen shade of sick, he shook, and his eyes were twitchy and unfocused. He'd become almost completely uncommunicative—even catatonic on occasions—and Willow, Xander and Buffy were just about freaked right out of their minds.

Xander tried to draw him out with jokes, failing miserably when the smiles Jesse rewarded them with were sly and sinister. Willow's attempts were with books, and his monosyllabic responses were enough to almost drive her round the bend. Buffy tried activity, hoping that if he came running with her, he'd either pick up the pace or collapse at her feet, thus making medical intervention necessary. He never showed up.

The big secret was still very much that: a big secret. Xander was jittery every time it looked like he needed to say something about the evil predators of the night, but chickened out before the words could escape his throat. The three teens shared worried looks, wondering why Jesse now turned to life altering drugs when he'd just survived an experience many didn't get to come back from. Buffy tried to stay out of much of it, sitting and doing little more than adding her silent worries about the mental state of her new friend to the pot. They were at a loss of what to do, his paleness and decreasing health frightening Willow into finally reporting it to Giles during one of their secret Jesseless meetings.

"He's pale and unresponsive, you say? Perhaps he is iron deficient after the attack and it has kept his energy reserves low. Also, it is possible that such a brush with death, no matter how confusing the actual brush might have been, would do something by way of frightening the poor boy into questioning his mortality."

Buffy considered. The first thing she had done when she noticed his pallor was check his neck. Other than the healing first bite, there was nothing there to indicate that he'd been the victim once more of an unexplainable attack. So, lack of iron could work. He had lost a lot of blood so it really was possible.

It was his lack of friendly banter and Xander-like sucky humour that really told her there was something wrong.

"Even if he's just tired, he wouldn't have a complete personality change. And he watches us. When he thinks we won't notice, he stares at each of us." Buffy stopped and shuddered, wrapping her arms around her suddenly cold self. "It's kinda like he's taking notes."

Giles dismissed their concerns with little interest, much preferring to go on to discuss any leads Buffy may have retrieved in regards the Master and his possible plans for escaping the Hellmouth.

There were none. "Sorry, Giles. Every vamp we come across is much more into the fighty and fangy than the talky. But next time I'll let one get extra special close just so I can try and get him to tell me something The Master would dust him for as soon as he got home." Her sarcasm was obviously lost on the Watcher as he mumbled about time and the lack of it remaining to sort it all out.

The frustration Giles felt was obvious as he twisted his glasses and shelved a book. "I can't abide all this waiting. Something disastrous is about to happen and we have absolutely no idea what it could be."

"I might be able to help you with that."

The man was a stranger to most, so his unexpected entrance made three of the library's occupants gasp. He stood in the back of the room, lurking in the shadows of the stacks as he had the undivided attention of four sets of eyes. They stared transfixed…

Until Buffy rolled hers eyes and huffily introduced him. "What are you doing here, Angel?" Her voice betrayed boredom, her expression too relaxed for a slayer around a vampire. Yet he took it as a good sign, believing she thought him safe and not the vicious monster Spike had treated him as inside the mausoleum. It was just more proof that the moron was going to go down, as soon as Angel managed to clear up the misunderstandings.

Still, it was a formidable audience. He cleared his throat and slowly made his way down the stairs, a book jammed under one arm. "I came to warn you." He brandished the ancient title with a flourish to Giles. "The Pergumum Codex. I thought it might be useful."

The researcher in Giles rejoiced at such a treasure, his hands smoothing the cover down respectfully. "Wherever did you get this? I thought it lost for good as it was last seen in the fifteenth century." The Watcher didn't even look up, allowing his hands to touch such essential and old information before his eyes could unravel the truth of the tales.

"Who cares where he got it, Giles? The issue right now is, why is there a vampire in our school trying to help me. I was kinda under the impression the handy dandy slayer's guide was all about the killing of the evil undead. Spike, I can understand the not dusting, what with the _soul _and all. But you, you're another story."

Giles grew white with alarm, taking an urgent step closer to Buffy as the truth of their interloper was revealed. He rather thought she could have dropped that little gem a bit sooner.

A squeak of impatience was intriguing to them all, however, as the one called Angel almost stomped his foot before sitting dejectedly in a chair at the research table.

"Look, you've got it all wrong. I have no idea how Spike made you fall for it, but you've got the wrong souled vampire. As in, I am, he's not."

Buffy laughed, the sound happy and carefree before seguing seamlessly into pissed off.

"You don't get to go around telling lies about my boyfriend." She ignored the gasps of surprise around her. Just because she hadn't told Spike she thought he was her boyfriend, didn't make it any less so. There had been kissage, and hand-holding. It put them on a step above friends and Buffy was more than happy to call it as she wanted it.

"I'm not lying—"

"Shut up. You say you have a soul, and sure, you've been kind of helpful in a really not kind of way. You may have given me the hints, but it's Spike that's been by my side with the actual action behind the information. He's the one that's been watching my back and helping me with the hands on fighting. So, how can you seriously sit there and tell me he hasn't got a soul?"

A flash of her conversation with Willow made Buffy stop—though to all it appeared she was finished anyway. While Angel sat spluttering, Buffy became lost in thought. How could she prove either way if one of them was lying? She really didn't think Spike was. He'd been around her for long enough now for her to have known if he had some sinister motivation for getting close to her. And if he did have some kind of plan—how did he intend to carry it out while he was kissing and dancing with her?

"Spike is nothing but a vicious murdering monster. He has no soul. He's been killing as recently as last week—" he stalled at Buffy's look of thunder, his own certainty dwindling a little without concrete proof. "—I'm willing to bet," he fudged, standing back up and straightening until his height had Buffy dwarfed.

She wasn't having any of his intimidation tactics. She kicked him hard in the knee and smirked at his look of agony before pushing his now slumped form back into his chair.

"I've seen Spike drink blood from a cup. If he was feeding I'd know. So good try, but no biscuit."

Giles, Willow and Xander looked at her askance. Buffy shrugged before explaining; "I heard it on a show once. It sounded much cooler when someone else said it though."

"Look, I know you don't want to hear it, but Spike is dangerous. If you don't start working that out soon you'll be dead." Angel cringed at the look of black fury that passed over and settled on Buffy's face, realising that standing back up might have been a bit presumptuous on his part and quickly slumping back into the chair.

"Okay," she said at last, said through gritted teeth and an urge for decapitation. "Just say what you're telling us is true and Spike doesn't have a soul. Why would he be doing this? Why would he be working with me to fight evil and The Master?"

The obvious answer was just on the tip of his tongue, but Angel felt the possibility of a pop to his nose could be very high if he dared suggest Spike was planning to kill her. And then the reality of it struck him. Spike didn't do plans—not well at any rate. Spike screwed them up on a fairly predictable basis. So if he'd entered this lie with the purpose to off the Slayer, he would have broken down now and attacked her. The alternative possibilities made Angel feel nauseous so he ignored them as best he could.

"I don't know." He couldn't do or say anything more to stop him looking as stupid as he already did. "I just know he is a soulless demon and if you aren't careful something bad will happen."

Buffy seemed satisfied with his answer, her rigid stance relaxing slightly as she turned her back on him and looked at her friends. Some kind of decision was reached and she turned back to their unwelcome visitor, studying him with the same degree of seriousness she often contemplated the demon goo on her designer shoes. "Look, I promise I won't take any risks. I'll stay on guard around him, but in my honest opinion, you're wrong. And from where I'm standing, actions speak louder than words, and Spike's actions so far shout so loud he's made me deaf. Think about it."

And she stared at him so hard that he felt uncomfortable and left.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"It's been so cold, Spike. Princess was worried. Why have you been hiding in the sun?" Her voice tinkled inside the crypt he'd made home, sharp eyes assessing shrewdly the benefits of his seeming defection from both his family and his partner. Nothing of what she saw made sense and instead of instigating a petulant tantrum, Dru dissolved into insecure whimpers and fell seamlessly to the floor.

Looking up, insanity nudged a smile to her lips as the tears made her cheeks glisten in the muted moonlight. "You've seen the light, my love." And she giggled, losing the sense of herself as she ghosted the sign of faith against the cross of her torso. "It's just so funny. Daddy's laughing at you. My Spike lies, but Daddy has the real prize. Naughty Slayer doesn't believe. Her time will come."

He'd spent a good decade thinking about why he'd been saddled with Dru. What bloody great crime against the world and creation he'd carried out to have met her in that dark alley so long ago. Surely it couldn't be that he'd pissed off the Big Guy for being so pathetic a wanker as to strive to be a poet. Of course, he'd actually known he was pretty bad at it. Awful in fact. Didn't make it a crime against humanity—just one against good taste. Those that chose to mock and drown him in cruelty were far more deserving of punishment—and that's when he'd found he'd answered one question. Maybe becoming the undead was its own reward. He'd had to think so or become as mad as Dru.

When he'd first seen her, he hadn't recognised her darkness for what it was. Even now, Dru didn't look like the great evil he knew her to be. Didn't appear to be the one who whispered truths as she tore with force at a bloke's devotion and love. She'd suck a man dry, all while having him so oblivious to her true nature that when the shock of it came—when the great rising terror of a manipulating Angelus came and usurped his destiny—it left him seething and tired.

And ultimately, that's what he was now. He saw her histrionics on his crypt floor, listened to her confused ramblings with so little care that it left him shocked and reeling. But so very very tired.

His time with Dru was long gone. He realised that now. With Angelus in town, it was an opportunity that he'd refused to consider—not while he'd thought the death of the Slayer was his next goal to achieve. How royally that plan fucked him over should really have come as no surprise. He was getting used to being fucked over by ideas far too grand for execution. And Buffy was a very pretty shaped spanner to throw into his mess of a works. He was beginning to think that if he couldn't kill her, he had nothing left but to love her.

His eyes fell on Dru once more, panicking a little as her green eyes watered and settled upon him sadly.

"You promised me you'd kill her, Spike. Why can't you kill her?"

Her expectations infuriated him. For over a hundred years she'd been forcing him to live for her, keeping him at her beck and bloody call, and one look at a blonde beauty had him scattering his devotions. He felt like he'd grown more than a measure since crossing over into Hellmouth territory. Like he'd grown beyond Dru and the life he'd led since his turning. Like he needed more and meeting Buffy showed him a way of having it.

Looking at Dru hurt now. She would always need something he didn't have—something she'd found to limitless depths in the wanker that, no matter how many years went by, he could never thoroughly leave behind. Cruelty—something the trace of William within him couldn't bear yet the one thing Angelus had in abundance. Thrived upon. And here, in this godforsaken mouth of Hell, she could have it to her heart's content. He'd be relieved to never have them around him again.

That's what he'd found in this most unlikely place—what he'd found in the acceptance in Buffy's eyes, as much as he tried to reject and ignore it. A chance to start over. He just didn't know if he had the courage to take it. Saying yes to Buffy might put him on a new path—but it was a real wrench to let go of everything he'd had. As lacking as he may suddenly find that to be.

"You should know why, pet. Always could read me better than I could myself." He chanced a look and sure enough she was tearful, yet not choked with grief. Dru wasn't one to rally behind the laws of being Sire. She was too barmy to even know there were any. So letting Spike go was relatively easy—losing him from the throb of evil seemed to cut much deeper.

Her eyes glittered with anger, the tears evaporating before he'd barely had time to register their existence.

"Princess doesn't like when one of the party leaves before he's been excused."

And wasn't that the rub. He hadn't asked if he could leave her, had made the decision without her input after leaving her for a week at the mercy of Darla and The Great Ponce himself. Not that he guessed there'd been much mercy—not if the healing lashes on her neck and arms were a true indication. She didn't seem resentful of his actions, though. More irritated that he hadn't sought the ancient out alongside her. Well, too bloody bad. He'd brought her here on her demand. If she didn't like that she'd lost him for good, it was her own bleeding fault.

"Sorry, Dru. But just this once you forgot to serve the bloody tea. Now I think it's time you got back to mum, pet. She'll be wondering where you got off to."

She hissed at him. Him, who'd been by her side since he'd been enslaved to her mystery. "You've lost yourself, William. Telling lies to the Slayer, making her believe in you. What will Daddy think when he finds out you've tampered with the Gypsy vengeance and started to wear his face?"

There was no doubt the first part of her speech had him cringing—he just knew claiming to have a soul would bugger things up good and proper. But he was on an out-of-control spin now, needing to cling to the excuse that kept him by Buffy's side. The deprivation of her favour would hurt more than he'd ever thought possible in regards to a slayer—in regards to his food.

"Yeah, I lied. What of it?" His stubborn stance was blown all to hell as his door was kicked forcefully off its hinges and laid to rest halfway to the back wall.

A vision of slayer betrayal stood in the moonlit opening, tears coursing down her cheeks and deep breaths struggling to make it into her lungs. Spike registered the twist in his gut as pain, just as his whole world was thrown into chaos.

She really didn't want to think about what Angel had told them, but Buffy couldn't tear the doubt from her mind. Not when it was her life that could be affected. The lives of her friends. But no matter which way she turned it around, Spike had given her no reason to have doubts. No reason to trust this Angel guy over him. There was no test that she could administer to measure the existence of a soul. All she had to judge was the word of a slimy guy and the deeds of both.

So far, Spike was so far in front he was lapping the other.

Thinking of Spike made her smile. Since that night she'd found him at the Bronze, they'd spent every night together patrolling. Being near him made her senses almost explode on overload and her craving for him was increasing with every glance he sent her way. She was more than a little attracted to him—it would surprise her to find someone who wasn't—but if she were really truthful, she could admit that what she was feeling about him had an intensity that left her starry-eyed and breathless. She'd passed the crush stage, learned as much about him as she could while he was as tight-lipped about his past as he could be—not that it had bothered her at the time. She'd felt the gentleness of his embrace when he comforted her after nearly being taken down by a pack of vamps—the Master's lackeys eager to take her to him. She'd felt the cool sensation against her buzzing palm, her skin so sensitised she was almost bouncing along at his side. And she'd felt his kisses—so molten with natural magic that Buffy wasn't so with the remembering of her own name. So yes, she'd drifted through the stages of romantic interest until she'd stumbled awkwardly into love, and she was so blessed by it that she couldn't tear the smile from her lips.

She had no clue if he felt the same, though the looks of longing when they pulled away from each other made her heart beat harder for the hope that he did. He never talked about his feelings, didn't press her to share her own, but each time he brushed his fist against her arm in a move so tender it nearly made her drool, she knew. Knew herself if not him. Knew that if she lost Spike to the lies Angel insisted he was telling, it would surpass hurt. It wasn't something she wanted to think about—even if it did compromise the life of her friends and family. Even if it endangered her own.

Giles had argued that the stupid prophecy book was such a great gift to them that she should believe Angel's motives for wanting to help. Should accept he was ensouled and be willing to listen to his story. Only problem was, she already believed he had a soul. She'd looked up the history of Angelus—well, honestly, she'd only read a paragraph or two before her stomach objected to more. What the account had told her was that Angelus had not been the one giving her hints about badness around the Hellmouth. In his own mysterious way, he'd been trying to help. Not terribly efficiently, but she guessed it must be kind of hard to try and slip into a world of humans if you were feeling guilt for destroying so many of them.

That thought stopped Buffy cold, and a sudden chill of foreboding spread through her body right as she came to a stop at the door of Spike's crypt. It was propped open slightly, a sliver of air existing between the door and its frame. Enough to warn her of another presence as she was about to enter and make out with her hot new boyfriend.

It was a woman's voice—one that she'd never heard before. Belonging to someone she no doubt had never heard **of **before. And she knew Spike well, judging by the intimacy of her tone, the hurt as she accused him of something.

"_Yeah, I lied. What of it?" _

Spike's reluctant admission slammed into her with all the force of a building collapse and Buffy felt the horror sink down to her toes. What did he mean he lied? Had he been sneaking around with her behind someone else's back? Was Buffy suddenly cast in the role of 'other woman' when she was only sixteen? Oh God, what was he lying about and why was he doing it? Without knowing what lay behind the claim she was falling apart, the pain driving into her heart like a lethally sharpened stake

She'd put so much trust in him—hadn't even considered he might be lying about any part of himself. It never even occurred to her to wonder how such a specimen of salty goodness was available in the first place. She'd just gone with it, decided she wanted him and went about showing him that he wanted her back. Learning you may have made a monumental mistake was a little hard to take. Learning it in the presence of another woman? Intolerable.

Buffy felt sick at the rushing swell of anger and disappointment that swept away all commonsense as she planted her boot flat against the door and sent it crashing inward. Spike's surprise and dread filtered through her already quaking sense of supposed understanding, yet it was the malicious glee she caught in the woman's eyes before she attacked that Buffy deemed more important. Without thinking, by trusting her heart before her head, she'd barged into the lair of two vampires. Ordinarily that wouldn't have been a problem, her usual confidence in her abilities allowing that most double-act vamps she came across would be dusty remains before they could share an ounce of their stupidity. This time, she could sense the power from both of them, Spike's almost heightened by his company, and Buffy at last realised her mistake.

Hands were around her throat and strangling her before Buffy could even call his name. Darkness beckoned as she tried to kick, tried to claw her way free. All the while the bitch was cackling like she thought Buffy's imminent death was funny and Spike stood shocked to the spot. Buffy saw it and didn't adjust her beliefs to the look of horror on his face, the fear that that reached out and met her own.

Not until Buffy was gasping did the pressure cease, only to leave her screaming as fangs sunk through tissue and sucked greedily at her blood. Buffy cried as her foolishness slammed into her and her mistakes flashed behind her eyes. Then it was over, blood leaking from her neck and weakness threatening to keep her collapsed on her knees. Partially in shock, she met furious midnight eyes feeding on terror and shrunk as he poured all his fear and anger into damaging punches that hit a too responsive Dru.

The woman Buffy didn't know—the one she hated and now feared with a very healthy does of reality—collapsed into a sobbing bundle of olden styled velvet. Everything about her was blood red—the out of fashion gothic styled dress, the murder in her eyes, Buffy's plasma that dripped from her fangs. And now she acted helpless against Spike's anger, remaining on the floor as she rubbed her face and whimpered about duty.

It was too much, Buffy cringing as Spike dragged the woman into the air, throwing her across his crypt and rushing back as she slid down the stone. The evil laughter was back, her eyes stripped of artifice as she maliciously entered the fight. Fists and fangs slashed through flesh and air, leaving Buffy scared and confused. She stood slowly, pushing her spirit and determination to support her legs, forcing one final look to confirm the preoccupation of both vampires as she painfully sidled out the door.

Spike had not stopped the movement of his kicks and fists until Dru lay bloodied and whimpering on the floor. He'd never felt such fear, such gut-clenching terror that he was going to lose the very thing he needed to keep him alive. Buffy. The image of his former's fangs hidden within the Slayer's throat had been enough to budge him from his catatonia, desperation to save Buffy—to really watch her back—spurring him to finally force Dru from her. Dru had taken him over completely during his past, but this encroaching on his territory—whether to kill or love a slayer was still the debate—it fuelled an intolerance he wasn't aware he had. No one could beat him, take away his purpose and so he had saved the girl. Didn't want her hurt anymore than he wanted to come to this hellhole in the first place.

Whatever had Dru worried about the situation now was not his problem. He'd beaten her into submission for the first time ever and amidst it all wondered if this was what he should have done if he'd really wanted her to be his all those long years past. Whatever he could have done, should have done, was long ago and he had his future now to protect.

It was time he surrender his stranglehold on his evil persona, allow himself to recognise there was so much more than killing and feeding. No matter how evil he was, how consumed he was by the demon within, there was always love. He'd never had it in Dru, but he knew he could with Buffy. Knew that he half did already.

He would not let her die, and especially not on the end of Dru's viciousness.

By the time the violence had stopped, Buffy had long disappeared into the night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

She'd not quite forced her stumbling steps to reach home before he caught up with her, seizing her in quivering arms and kissing apologies into her hair. Buffy wasn't in any rush to pull away, she could wait to face the thing that had nearly killed her for a few more minutes while she filed away the smell and feel of him. It was a pity he could tell she was crying—even if it was the great body shaking sobs that clued him in.

She clung to the leather of his coat as she delayed delving into a truth she didn't want to know. Not really. If she was the other woman, then she'd deal, because being held tight in his arms felt more right than being wrong. Felt like something she should fight for rather than give up. But betrayal hurt much more than she'd expected. She never thought it would be something she'd have to face this soon in her life.

Within a minute of the embrace, Buffy realised she was finding it harder to breathe. Having that automatic body function deprived for the second time so soon after the first, she was beginning to think she could develop a complex.

"Spike!" she gasped, feeling the pain in her heart as it spread to her lungs.

Buffy could feel the grit of sorrow on her face as she ducked her head in an attempt to hide. But one of the fingers on a hand that she loved so much slipped along her jaw and lifted her chin, making her see that her eyes weren't the only ones that shimmered.

"I'm sorry, Buffy." And strangely he was. He felt a true glimpse of what it must be like to have a soul and was ever grateful he didn't have one. If this was the kind of pain he'd be stuck with every day for the rest of his existence, then he didn't want a bar of it. Sure, he really preferred to not go through another scene like the last anytime soon, but daily torment he could do without.

"I heard her, Spike." A hard edge entered her voice—an edge that was pure bravado and self-defence. "I heard what she said. That you lied. What about, Spike? And who were you lying to? Her, or me?" Tears of frustrated expectation were again sliding down her cheeks, her nose throbbing and her throat all seized. But this wasn't something Buffy could allow herself to avoid. As much as she didn't really want to know—didn't want to know about HER—there was much experience that told her the dangers resulting from ignoring certainties.

Spike did not look like a man keen on broaching the subject. He looked over her shoulder, searching hard for something that could alter perception so he didn't have to go through this. He'd saved Buffy from Dru's bloodlust—saved her from being hurt—and was on the verge of losing her for good. What did he do then? If he told her the truth, would she still want to know him? Would she still need his lips to kiss her goodnight or would she wipe at them in disgust?

He could choose to tell her nothing. Let another lie pass his lips and come back to bite him on the arse. He didn't want to lose her, but if he did, what then? If he told her the monumental lie that had presented him with the perfect cover to get close enough to kill her and her friends, told her that he'd fallen hard and changed his desire from one of death to life, would she still allow him close?

He didn't think she could. Not as the Slayer. Maybe Buffy could have forgiven his deceit—if she really loved him. But the Slayer would have to punish him, and the worst possible way of doing that would be to withdraw her affections and shut him out of her life. He had no answer to what he would do then. He hadn't completed any kind of transformation toward good, was still reeling from falling for the common enemy of his kind. But he'd been testing himself, trying to hold back on the killing. Well, bloody hell, not really, but he'd been thinking about it. And had cut back. Only one a night—and a quick death, not one as brutal as in his past life. Not one who'd been his plaything for the night—no more chase and consume. Now it was feeding for the sake of it, but becoming something he was getting closer to believing was wrong. Would whatever process he'd begun come to a screeching halt as soon as the damning words fell from his lips and she discarded him completely?

One look at the shadows developing beneath her eyes, her skin pale for the loss of blood, and he knew the choice was not in his hands. Whatever happened after, it was time now to be honest—to be himself. To be Spike. If she couldn't be with him after, well, one step at a time would get him either comfy on the Hellmouth or completely out of the place.

"Pet, can we go somewhere to talk?" He still held her hand, even as she looked warily at the two of them entwined together before squeezing him in what he could only interpret as terrified clinging.

"We can talk at my place," she told him quietly, taking two steps in the direction of her front porch before realising that he wasn't moving. She didn't speak again as she stared at him, hoping the urgency wasn't quite showing.

"Not sure I should, Buffy. Think after this you might not appreciate me having unlimited access to your home."

He was serious, she could tell. And it made her stomach feel all tight and flamey, making cold shivers beat and tickle against her skin.

"Are you having an affair with me?" Buffy couldn't hide the vulnerability she felt, her voice cracking with too much emotion. God, this pain wouldn't stop, not unless he told her it was a mistake and that other woman wasn't his legitimate girlfriend.

Spike looked shocked at his question, then pensive. "Never thought of it like that, but in a way, I guess I am."

Buffy yanked her hand free and backed up toward her house, pain obvious in every wobble of her lip. "How could you do that to me? I thought you l—" She slammed a lid on that line, refusing to bring herself closer to not recovering this blow. If he didn't know, if he didn't suspect…

"I **do** love you."

Her face was on fire as she stared at him stunned, and then the sobs erupted from deep in her throat as she cursed the weakness of her knees when he was around. He lifted her with grace, and carried her around to the back of the house and cradled her in his arms while he sat on the seat in the garden. It was as private as he was going to get—not wanting to risk her hating that she took him into her house to learn the awful truth about a monster with her in his heart.

"Buffy, I did lie to you—and you wouldn't believe how sorry I am about that—but not about Drusilla. That was more a slip of the mind I guess. I didn't not tell you on purpose, I just forgot about her as soon as I saw you." Spike grinned nervously, his teeth biting his bottom lip while a brow quirked higher. "She was a mite upset that I'd left her for you, I guess, but that's not what she was getting at, luv."

Buffy beat down the panic that threatened to burn her throat with bile. So much already and he hadn't even told her the information she'd requested. What lie had he told? Why, it was looking like the one big fat lie about his hobag betterbe-ex wasn't even the start of it. She was no closer to understanding the cause of her near death experience than she had been before Spike followed her and promised explanations.

The grief in her expression wasn't alleviated even a little with what he'd shared so far and Spike sighed deeply, gathering strength from the fact that she hadn't removed herself from his lap or his touch yet. His arms tightened around her and he looked off passed her shoulder, gaining distance and courage by not seeing the pain he was sure to inflict reflected in her eyes.

"I'm a bad, rude man, Buffy. I was dragged to this place kicking and screaming by my sire—Drusilla, the mad bird you unfortunately met back at the crypt. She was hellbent on reuniting with the family, convinced she'd find Angelus and our unlives would go back to being hunky-dory. Never bloody knew it wasn't, you know? I didn't want to come, but I've been devoted to her for over a century and like the whipped fool I am, I gave in and here we are." He could feel the pressure against the circle of his arms as Buffy tried to push away, could feel the increase in her temperature as she fought an internal battle not to stake him, was his guess. Whatever it was, he was grateful that she hadn't yet broken free and he could finish his tale. It wasn't going to paint pretty pictures for him, but at least he was telling it and not some other interfering wanker that didn't know the full truth.

"It didn't seem so bad a move when I found out the Slayer was here guarding the Hellmouth."

He very clearly noticed the second she stopped breathing, hoping that she would begin again as soon as he rushed in with the rest. "Still, wasn' in any hurry to seek you out. Had my own decisions to make, my own thoughts to sort out. When I met you and your mates in the graveyard…it wasn' intentional, yeah? I wasn't looking for a fight, not right then. Was following, just out of interest. When I helped, wasn't even planning on eating any of your friends. Then Darla gave me an out, a way to be there and look good as well as give me an in to you."

Ah, there it was, the air sucked back into her lungs and the vibrations of her body increased. It broke something vulnerable inside that she was crying and he couldn't stop the need to crush her against his chest and compound the problem with apologies.

"You were going to kill me? So Angel was right?" She didn't act like a chit who just heard her boyfriend had plotted her death. She didn't move away as one would if they feared for their life.

The desperation to never let go was filtering through him and seizing his fingers, causing bruises where he gripped her hard. "I'm a monster, Buffy. Killing slayers is what I do. What I'm known for."

She gasped in horror. "You've killed other Slayers?" And then her wet forest green eyes accused him with all the sadness he'd never been expected to react to. While such weakness in a human always made Angelus laugh, to Spike it reminded him of the moment his mum had caught onto the truth of what he was telling her, what he wanted to share with her.

"Two." The admission he was sure sealed his fate. How could he come back to be anything worth looking at now that she knew what he was and all he'd done before meeting her.

"Why haven't you done it yet?" She searched him deeply, finding something he wasn't sure about but feeling relieved it kept him where she was for now. "You're soulless; there was nothing in your way. I totally trusted you and fell for you. You could have killed me eighty times over. Why haven't you?" The repetition didn't quicken his answer and when it came, Buffy both melted and wished she could take it back and never have to hear it.

"Because I found things in you and your friends I thought I could never have." The tense hunch of his shoulders was enough to herald the world that he was uncomfortable with revealing such a weakness, and that he really didn't want to elaborate. Buffy seemed to settle in his arms, though, and he felt the prickle of tears.

She stared at him for what seemed like hours, the night growing around them and greeting all the routines of its arrival. "You've never been liked before?"

Spike startled, opened his mouth to deny it but knew. No more lies or he could guarantee a brutal end to this heartfelt bare-all. "No, not really."

And she kissed him.

"I like you," she whispered bravely against his lips, trusting her heart and knowing that she could be wrong and end up dead tonight. It was a risk. Every night she wandered around it on her own, prepared with nothing but a pointy stub of wood while some evil demon could take her out whenever one came along that was stronger than her, bigger or just more prepared. She could live each day in fear that a decision she made was wrong, that she was the sole reason people continued to die in this town, or she could just believe in herself and take whatever happiness passed her way.

Spike made her happy, and though he had no soul, he's shown her a great deal more about himself and the way he could love by protecting her and being honest when he could have taken the easy way out.

If admitting that he was with another girl while messing around with Buffy was taking the easy way.

"So, this Dru? She's out of the picture?" Eager eyes watched his and Buffy felt a light inside lit to a powerful flame as he nodded his affirmation.

"Completely," he voiced in wonder, his lips being teased by the presence of hers barely a breath away. "She knows how I feel about you."

She wasn't going to press, already having heard it once—probably only by accident. She could wait longer, determined to give Spike all the time he needed to prove himself to her friends and Giles. She had a feeling that a soul wasn't as big a deal as Angel made out. If Spike could change his whole world around for her without one, then was she really supposed to be impressed by Angel's mediocre efforts with one?

She could feel an eyeroll coming on and to prevent an immersion into Angel annoyance, she snuggled deeper into Spike's arms, feeling his affection in the unconscious efforts to breathe as well as his tight hug.

"Spike?" Buffy made a decision, ignoring the implications if she was wrong. No way did she believe Spike was still planning to kill her. Not even an evil vampire filled with hate could sustain this level of intimacy with just the desire to kill her to fuel him.

No trace of her decision had passed through to him yet, his shoulders stiffening for the rejection Buffy suspected he felt sure was coming his way. He was so gorgeous, all wounded and unhappy at the thought of everything between them being irretrievable.

"Come into my home, Spike." Buffy bit her lip as his awestruck gaze bathed her in happiness.

"Buffy?"

He didn't move until she'd moved upright, linking their fingers and leading him to her back door. She opened it, and slowly dragged Spike through it. Progress to her room was slow, eyes locked as they trod each step carefully. Buffy tugged him down fully clothed onto her bed and quickly positioned herself for healthy and happy vampire snuggles.

"Spike, I really like you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

There'd been no kiss in her little girl room. Spike laid back the length of her plush bed, holding her tight, and knew he'd never been this close to anyone in his entire life. And all without a kiss or a caress. It felt a lot like how he'd expect Heaven to feel, this giddy sense of comfort. This loving sense of fulfilment. And just like the git he was, he felt the urge to test its validity—to seek the end of something that made him feel so special and wanted if it wasn't truly right.

"Buffy?" he asked, his voice hesitant but hopeful. "You sure this is what you want, luv?"

Buffy giggled, Spike's eyes widening as he looked at her in amazement. Watched her as she propped herself up on her elbow and looked down into his awestruck face. "Spike! I just found out my boyfriend—who I really, really liked a lot before I found out he was a cheating, lying yet adorable soulless vampire—is a soulless vampire. Of course I'm sure this is what I want." Her smile revealed so much of her tender heart, her eyes betraying her sincerity of feeling for him, and all he could do was stare at her in wonder. The simple ecstasy of it crackled on the air around them.

But then he felt the doubt seeping back into his body with the flashing images of her friends and watcher in his mind's eye. His eyes clouded as sadness consumed him. "Don't expect your mates will be half as forgiving or welcoming as you, pet."

He looked down at her comforter and missed the fear that cast a shadow over Buffy's face. Then determination swept it away as her mind was made up.

"They'll be fine." A heavy pause. "We just won't tell them." She avoided his eyes, knowing that she should be seeing a look of censure in them at her behaviour, but suspecting immense relief instead. Buffy could feel the undercurrent of hope and knew that she was making the right decision, even if it provoked derision when everyone eventually found out. But he needed a chance, and she wasn't ready for her friends to judge her fairytale and bring it to an early and less happy conclusion.

Angel's smug face when she told her friends the truth about Spike's lack of soul—and his original plan to take her down—made her feel petulant and fiercer in her need to protect the relationships Spike had formed with her friends.

"And…well…I have to admit it would be funny to see Angel explode from the inside. He's all 'my soul makes me so great. I am the one true soulful vampire; Spike is an imposter. Pick me, Buffy. Pick me!'"

Buffy's attempt to impersonate the brooding whiney voice of the Angel she'd been getting to know was hysterical and Spike couldn't help the small puff of a laugh that escaped his lips.

"Bloody brilliant. You should go into acting, pet."

She looked him up and down with a glint of mischief breaking through the seriousness. "I'd give you a run for your money, blondie."

"Oy! I'll have you know I was being perfectly…'m not gonna get away with that, am I?" he realised with a pout. She'd be onto every evil action now, leaving him totally buggered.

Buffy shook her head, even as amusement kept her smile in place. He was evil—and had been viciously so not so long ago. She couldn't expect him to take up the honesty train completely overnight. That didn't mean she didn't have standards—just that she'd cut him some slack as he moved up to meet them.

A shy searching look and Buffy let her head fall to his shoulder, her hand free to trace slow, light circles over his abdominals. Her fingers stroked over the bump of each muscular ridge, her body thrumming with electrified tingles as quiet breaths seemed forced through Spike's lips. Lids heavy with a desire that wasn't so new since meeting him, Buffy let her eyes close and followed the internal lustiness. She kept her hands innocent even as her mind explored the obscene.

"So, are we okay now? You're all free of insano vamps and duty, etcetera?" Buffy could feel his nod of affirmation against her cheek, his chest moving with the action. Her next words left him rigid, though, but Buffy was too absorbed in her imagination and where their new understanding of each other could lead to. "And you're soulless, though all with the good, right? No eating of the population with a pulse and helping me defend the Hellmouth against those vamps?"

His nod this time was slower, affected poorly by the sudden kick of what this choice would mean for him. It was one thing to start feeling a little peculiar in his belly when he drank his victims down, completely another to recognise it as guilt and give it up in the name of love.

It wasn't really an argument. He had Buffy in his arms right now after expecting her to shove him to the curb. He'd been a lucky bloke and it wouldn't do now to risk it all with her discovering his secret little pastime. So yeah, he was going cold turkey off the happy meals.

He could rip someone's head off about it later.

He watched from the shadows as she led one of the Slayer's friends into the dark. The door of her place was left open, the weakened body slumped against the doorframe as he struggled with a satiated smile and a quickly abandoned attempt to reach out to her. Darla's lip curled in contempt, her demon's eyes glaring at the boy who just wouldn't take the hint. He was useful for some things, it was true, but he'd not yet learned the subtle art of disappearing when she'd had her fill.

"Sweetie." Her voice dripped with saccharine, more than a hint of her impatience for him to be gone in the forceful shove of him out her door. "You really should be getting home. You do have school tomorrow, right?" She tilted her head, knowing that it showed her off to a lovely advantage. He may not be the best toy she'd ever had, but he was sure fun for now. His connection to that frustrating little slayer added to his marketability no matter how annoying his tiresome flirting grew to be.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess." Jesse stared at her unblinkingly for a moment, his eyes dazed and unfocused as the blood made a sludgy trek through his veins.

He swayed drunkenly on his feet and swerved sharply once he lost the support of the building's solid structure. He fell, laughing hysterically as he struggled back to his feet. The sloppily dressed teen missed her flash of irritation as he stumbled again and finally rolled her eyes.

"Guess I took a bit too much this time. Better stay at home tonight and rest up. If you don't replenish your supplies then you are of absolutely no use to me. Understand?" She grabbed his chin and forced him to look her in her amber eyes, her loathing plain for anyone not half drained and drowning in lust to see.

Finally he blinked and instead of rearing back in horror at the monster less than an inch from his face, he grinned, a look of relief and desire making rapid imprints on his features.

"Don't think I can do that, baby." His voice was slurred, his body heavy on his legs as he smirked and looked her curves up and down. He was going for sexy; she thought he was pathetic.

"Look, as much as I don't care if your organs shut down from the loss of blood, I'm not ready yet for your superfreak friend to come bashing down my door. Be a good little stray and **scat.**" She said it like 'boo', obviously thinking she still had enough menace to make him wet his pants, but instead he lunged forwards and latched onto her lips with an amorous kiss.

"Ewwwww, can't you take no for an answer?" A violent push sent Jesse careening against the wall of the next building, his head cracking on the bricks as he slumped down them and flopped on the ground unconscious. She felt such revulsion that her body shook, yet her gaze wandered almost immediately to find another hassle she didn't want to have to deal with.

"If you're planning to stalk me to death, at least be original about it."

Angel fell away from the shadows, his moves slow and calm as he casually walked up to his sire and one time lover.

"You planning on leaving the boy there?" He stared at her, his eyes soaking up the blonde beauty that had rejected him and his soul while he purposefully blocked out the very real existence of the Slayer's friend passed out through injury and loss of blood.

"Believe me, it couldn't have happened to a dumber geek." She turned her back and made to leave him, showing such disdain for his presence that it made his jaw clench and his hands squeeze into tight fists.

"I need your help." The words were out before he could think them out thoroughly, and he cringed at his stupidity when she laughed uproariously. She was beautiful when she laughed—as evil and dangerous as she was at any time, the radiance of her smile always stunned him. It explained so much about him—his attraction to Buffy for one—and he was momentarily startled speechless.

"Why Angelus," she purred as she turned and began to stalk him, her fingers reaching out and walking up his arm to rest with a pat on his chest. "Whatever could I help you with?"

He couldn't miss the malicious glint that challenged him, couldn't suppress the growl that rumbled beneath his breast for the pleasure of her touch. It had been so long, too long since she'd cast him out, rendered him homeless and without family to love and provide for. He'd been a good provider—bringing home the bacon on a viciously regular basis. He felt a momentary pang of disgust before shirking it off and finding her again.

"I need you to help me find out what Spike's up to." His lips were tight as he watched every flicker of emotion on her face. She was an expressive woman, yet usually she settled on derision and flirty, two ends of the spectrum while she pursued her prey.

He'd expected her to refuse. Instead she looked confused which quickly changed to intrigued.

"Why, I thought our baby boy was all shiny like you. Has he been naughty?" Her smile was so infectious, so stunning that Angel often felt she'd inspire a man to breath, counteracting the undead part of his curse.

"Well, I don't know for sure," Angel admitted bashfully, but envy churned in his gut until he could barely stand there without committing violence. The little creep had stolen his life, had slipped in when he wasn't looking to take over his mission and pinch his girl. "I might not have the proof, but I know Spike. You know Spike. No way is he telling the truth. Can't you ask Drusilla?"

Darla waved her hand dismissively at that option. "That fruitloop hasn't said a thing that made sense in over a hundred years. I doubt I can decipher her babble now if my life depended on it. Which it doesn't." A slow disturbing grin spread over her face and consumed Angel in its glory. "But I have an idea." She stepped to the side and they both took in the crumpled form of Jesse. "Meet my own little pet spy. He's got an in with the Slayer. I shouldn't have to promise much for him to do exactly what I want. Lucky for you the boy is so desperate for me that he'll do anything I wish."

Angel cringed. He could feel the weight of his guilt settle heavily on his shoulders, but could feel the futility of his presence in this place even more. Buffy wouldn't need him if Spike were to stay by her side. She wouldn't need his soul, his muscle, or even his affection. It hurt even more that because of him, the biggest mistake of their family, Buffy didn't even want Angel. He'd never been last on the list before. Even soulful the Powers wanted him. Had expectations of him.

Still, his soul rejected he allow his sire to use this human. Angel felt the pain of it as it ate away at the thing in him that fought against evil every day. One more look at the brunette and he closed his eyes, stubborn and selfish need making up his mind. There were always casualties in war.

"Do whatever you need to. I'll be in touch."

And with the swish of his coat he was gone, not even watching as Darla turned her back on her fucktoy and headed back inside.

Jesse didn't even moan as Xander came out of hiding, the fear and shock making him shake violently as he heaved up his friend and dragged him to safety.


End file.
